


The Perfect Instrument

by Kimber135



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cruciatus Curse (Harry Potter), Cutting, Depression, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Gore, Harry Potter is a Good Boyfriend, Magic, Pain, Room of Requirement, Sectumsempra (Harry Potter), Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation, Whump, self-injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24663355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimber135/pseuds/Kimber135
Summary: Draco is a mess. TW for self harm, suicide attempt-all the dreary stuffHonestly idk.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	1. Crucio

Harry pushed past the other students hurriedly, following the lean blonde figure through throngs of hungry professors and year sixes and sevens. It was lunch time, yet the boy was seen only once in the mess hall-and that was the first dinner of the year. The young Malfoy had been sulking about-well, to be fair they all had. They'd just saved the world, after all. It's a lot-especially combined with having to return to the battlefield and pretend everything’s like it once was. Pretend half of them hadn't died or been tortured. Harry blinked fuzz out of his eyes and kept running until he finally made it through the crowd. Draco was nowhere to be seen.

"Draco..." he mumbled.

_Where the fuck did he go?_

Harry checked the nearby doors, until he heard a familiar voice.

"Mister Potter! Are you not supposed to be lunching?"

The boy gulped.

"Professor McGonagall!" Harry chimed, swiftly closing the door to face the woman. She raised an eyebrow inquisitively at the door.

"I was just...I thought I saw something. Sorry."

Her face softened.

"It's quite alright, Harry. We're all still a bit shaken up."

He felt a twinge of guilt.

McGonagall only smiled.

"Run along. I'll see you there," she said.

"Right. Erm...yeah."

He headed back toward the mess hall, and the wary professor returned to her desk. She'd replaced Dumbledore as headmaster and there was quite a bit on her plate.

"Harry!"

He nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Mione! Sorry, I was ju-"

"Where have you been?" Ron asked loudly.

"I-"

"Nevermind that, sit down." Hermione grabbed his sleeve and pulled him onto the bench next to her.

He obliged and was immediately enveloped in the conversation. After the battle, the eighth year students had all taken to sitting together during meals. Except for dinner. The professors allowed it-especially after they'd all been through, though he suspected it might have something to do with the student dynamic. The eighth years had seen some shit and there were new students. Best not to scare them.

Harry watched the large doorway like he did every day. Still no Draco. He found himself pining after the boy.

_By Merlin, I will find what he's up to._

Though he'd never admit it, Harry was worried for the stuck-up son of a bitch. They hated each other-sure, that had always been the story. But as of late, hatred didn't quite exist as it once did amongst his classmates. They simply hadn't the energy, let alone the conviction.

.

By the time potions class rolled around, Draco decided to show up.

 _Finally,_ Harry thought.

The pale boy slunk into the room silently and took his seat in the very back, looking his usual worn-out self. Harry cocked his head in concern, eyeing him across the room. Slughorn droned on about the practical use of medicated potions and the class remained only half-awake.

So when they all partnered up, naturally, Ron chose Hermione. She glanced at him apologetically, but he knew she was reassuring herself in knowing that half the room would be leaping at the opportunity to be his partner. Not that he was any good at potions-after he'd lost Snape's book, he was back to his usual rubbish abilities. But Draco sat alone, hoping not to be noticed.

_Too bad._

Harry grabbed the supplies they needed from the counter, levitating the rest over to the far end of one of the Slytherin tables, where Draco lurked in the shadows. He flinched away immediately.

"What are you doing, Potter?" He croaked. His voiced sounded creaky, as if it hadn’t been used in a while. Harry expertly hid the sympathy on his face.

"I'm doing the assignment," he quipped, sliding a notebook and a recipe toward Malfoy.

"As are you."

Draco rolled his eyes and Harry remained a respectful distance away, fumbling through the recipe as per usual. Malfoy wasn't helping at all. He stuck to bemusedly watching Harry attempt to not fail the class, staying remarkably taciturn. The gryffindor had expected at least a dozen profane admonishments. 

"Erm...okay so...powdered slug...and then..." Harry talked to himself subconsciously, not acclimated to having someone stare at him with such silent intensity. 

"Alright, one minute!" Slughorn announced. Harry started sweating.

"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, looking at the frothy mess in the cauldron. Draco rolled his eyes and stood up, face painted with an endearing smirk.

_Good god that's hot._

"May I-?"

Harry's eyes were wide, having expected the boy to continue his near catatonic state.

"Um...sure. Please do."

Draco smiled gently and kindly-something Harry had never seen-and took up the recipe.

His nimble hands flew across the cauldron, murmuring spells under his breath.

"Fifteen seconds!"

"Draco-"

"Yes, yes..."

"Three, two. One!" Slughorn cried out.

"Alright, wands down everyone, please sit. Place your potions at the front of your desks..."

Harry watches the bubbling liquid in the cast-iron cauldron, a pinkish purple in hue.

Eventually, the old professor made it to their table. He sniffed the concoction, swirling his wand around in it.

"That's...that's nearly perfect, actually. Consistency’s a little on the thick side, though. Well done, gentlemen."

 _It wouldn’t be so thick if I hadn’t fucked it up..._ Harry thought. 

Draco nodded, his head still down. Hermione turned and winked at them both.

The boy had returned to his previous maudlin state.

And so it continued. They made a habit of pairing up for potions and Slughorn made no effort to separate them, though he tended to rotate the other students. It was an unspoken thing they shared. Yet the odd things continued as well. Draco absent from study halls and most meals. Harry watching the doorway expectantly. Draco disappearing into thin air, leaving Harry staring quizzically at the wall.

Until one night, he took his invisibility cloak and decided to go after the mysterious boy-only this time, it wasn't just him being nosy. He was genuinely concerned for him. It was time for dinner, and Harry had told Hermione and Ron that he grabbed a snack earlier. Said he wasn't feeling well, that he was just going to rest. Said he'd see them in the dorms. Harry quickly found Draco on the Marauder's Map, then apparated around the corner from him. Throwing the cloak over his shoulders, he watched as Draco glanced over his shoulder nervously and summoned the Room of Requirement.

_Ah. So that's where he's been going._

Casting a silencing charm under his breath, Harry ran up behind the boy and barely made it into the room before the doors swung shut behind them both. The Room was dark and bare, and he watched from the corner as Draco shrugged his robe off and sat on the floor. A platter of food floated down to him from the ceiling, but he waved it aside.

"Thank you, though." He smiled upwards.

Draco's facade started to crumble away and he got up to open a closet in the wall, staring at his reflection. Harry had never seen such hatred in his eyes. He began to wonder if perhaps coming was a mistake.

 _He obviously wants to be alone,_ Harry thought.

Draco tossed his head, changing angles and staring into the mirror in a mixture of mischief and seduction. He just laughed at himself cynically and gave it up.

"You know you’re hideous either way," he muttered. Harry barely heard it. But he still did, and winced.

_Goddammit Malfoy, you're fucking gorgeous and you know it, you nitwit._

The broken wizard walked to the centre of the room and sighed, wand in hand. He wriggled out of his shirt and levitated it wordlessly to where his robe sat, and Harry noticed the scars on his back. They formed a large X, like someone had flogged him with a spiked whip. His chest was already littered with bruises and scars, and it looked like someone had...like someone had carved words into his skin. It was impossible to make out what they said, though, in the dimly lit room.

Draco steadied himself, and choked back a sob, his face breaking and his hands shaking.

"Sectumsempra," he whispered. Immediately, his back arched and huge bloody gashes appeared on his already-scarred torso, running down his arms and his neck. Blood erupted from the wounds, and Harry dropped his cloak and immediately ran to Draco's side. The blonde screamed in agony, Harry’s wand ghosted over the boy's quivering body.

"Vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur..." he chanted. The giant lacerations closed up, and he uttered a quick _Tergeo_ to get rid of the blood. Draco sputtered, breath hitching in Harry's lap.

"Merlin Draco, why would you do that?"

The pale boy in his arms smiled barely, exhausted from the pain.

"I...I knew you were...knew y'were there..." he managed to wheeze out.

Harry looked at him incredulously.

"I-you did this to prove a point!?"

Draco laughed coarsely.

"I was right...wasn't I? Y'followed me."

The young wizard's gaze drifted down to the boy's torso, eyeing the scars.

_Traitor_

_Worthless_

_Killer_

There were also countless slash marks, like he'd been stabbed over and over again, then attacked by a paper shredder.

Two words stuck out the most.

 _Disappointment_ was scrawled across his chest. It was even and perfect, the handwriting sloping elegantly-unlike the slanted, angry lettering of the others. The dark mark on Draco's left arm was barely visible anymore under the dozens of burn marks and scars.

The second, was the word _MONSTER_. It was slightly fainter and ran messily across his ribcage backwards, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion it was so he could read it in the mirror. The notion made him sick. 

_He had to have done that himself._

Harry's eyes were glassy, the damage in front of him overwhelming. Draco sighed, regaining his strength.

"What, don't like what you see?"

"Draco, who-who did this to you?"

The pale wizard nuzzled his head into Harry's lap, making himself comfortable.

"Many people. Can't say I blame them, really."

"That's not true."

"Well...also can't hold them accountable for all of it."

Harry gasped, and Draco hated that he relished the sound.

"I know, I know...I don't have great handwriting. I'm working on it."

"I-"

"This is the real world, Potter. People do fucked up things."

"No Draco...people don't..."

"It would seem they do."

With that, the boy stood shakily and limped to where his shirt and robes sat, shakily buttoning the former.

"I doubt you're keen on allowing me to continue."

Harry was still on the floor.

"Oh do get up from there-it's really uncomfortable after a while. Thanks for cleaning me up, by the way. I'd have rather you hadn't, but...oh well."

  
He shrugged casually, and magicked his robe onto his shoulders, offering Harry a hand in the middle of the room. He took it and refused to let go.

"Draco-Draco listen to me."

"I don't need to listen to anyone, Golden Boy." he said, but his tone was void of malice. He tried not to notice the throbbing of his pulse, hand still clamped inside Harry’s. 

"You need to stop...doing this to yourself!"

"Why?" Draco spun around on his heel to face him, an icy fire in his eyes.

"Because it's dangerous!"

"So? Who cares!"

"I do, you bloody idiot!"

Harry's eyes welled up with tears, Draco standing cool and composed.

"I care," he repeated, though more to himself than anyone.

Draco just smiled.

"Don't kid yourself Potter, you don't have to save everyone. Can I have my hand back?"

The hand was released and Draco reached out to pat Harry on the shoulder, but the boy flinched away.

"I-sorry," they both said. He arched a platinum eyebrow but said nothing.

"Anyhow...I'm off. Go join your friends-you must be hungry."

_He did not just-he fucking eats nothing are you-jesus fucking christ._

With that, Draco swiftly strode down the hall, the enormous heavy doors clunking shut and leaving Harry in the vacant room.

He made his way to his quarters, where he'd surely find Ron and Hermione. He was right.

"Where were you?"

"Just went to get some air."

"Oh. Alright."

Ron stretches and yawns. Harry knew he didn’t believe him- _he went to get some air? Really?_ But he also knew that Ron knew better than to ask. 

"I'm gonna go shower." He declared and stalked off to their bathroom.

Harry just sat on his bed, staring at the floor. Ron always showered in the evening; he took his in the morning. The wizard stripped, slid a pair of sweats and a shirt over his wiry frame. 

An hour later, Ron was asleep and snoring-not that Harry could hear it, of course.

_Thank Godrick for silencing charms._

He stared at the ceiling, thinking of Draco.

"Ugh."

It was clear he wasn't going to fall asleep any time soon. Cautious not to wake his slumbering roommate, Harry stepped into his slippers and crept downstairs, invisibility cloak tight around his shoulders.

After a good half hour of searching, he finally found Draco's room. He could only tell by the worn monogrammed trunk that sat in front of his bed. The two other beds in the room were empty, Hogwarts having a shortage of Slytherin students that year. Harry cursed himself for leaving the map in his trousers back in his room but soon realised he didn't need it from the light coming from underneath Draco's bathroom door. Removing his cloak and dropping it on a chair, Harry crept up to the warped oaken door, leaning against the wall, listening. He could hear sniffling. Crying.

Harry's heart sank and he whispered an amplification charm.

"I'm s-sorry father...I didn't-you were right. You were right all along. Disappointment. I'm glad you left me a reminder."

_He did wHAT? That was him? Holy shit..._

A crack rang out, like the sound of something hitting a wall. Like bone against tile. 

"I let you down, I let you all down...and then she died. And it's-it's all m-my fault..."

More sobbing.

"If I had just done what I was told and killed him...but father-father you d-don't understand. I couldn't. Not even if I wanted to. I'm so s-sorry...."

Harry heard a sharp inhale on the other side of the door, and something small and metal falling to the floor.

"Don't you see? I'm defective-I could never hurt him...I tried, father, I did...I could n-never...I'm supposed to hate him, I know I know I know...but h-he's just...gah!” 

Harry heard him groan in pain, and tried to move but found himself paralysed.

_What is he on about?_

“And now she’s gone.” 

It was as if Harry could hear him breaking. 

“She’s g-gone, father. And it’s my fault, it’s all my fault. It should’ve been me, should’ve been me...”

It’s quiet, really quiet. Too quiet. 

"I'm a monster."

Silence and sniffles.

"I deserve this..." he croaked.

"Cru-crucio!"

_Shit._

Harry banged against the door, to no avail.

_Shit!_

"Alohomora!" The door swung open.

He was screaming, contorting grotesquely.

"Draco! Draco please, you've got to end it. You've got to say it again."

He just kept screaming, sickening popping and snapping noises coming from his body, blood leaking from his arm.

"Malfoy please! For me, for...please I can't...please don't _leave...I can’t lose you."_

The wizard's eyes widened.

"Please Draco..."

"C-I can’t!"

"Yes you can, come on, Draco!"

The spell should have killed him by now. Harry chalked it up to him being so weakened.

"Cru-FUCK! Cruc-crnnnnnnnnNNNCRUCIO!"

He wailed, stilling. He panted, tears flowing down his cheeks.

Harry rushed to his side, and Draco quickly passed out.

The young wizard woke up in his bed, his whole body sore. A horrible pain erupted in his ribs and he screeched like a wounded owl, clutching the sheets.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..." Harry whispered, muttering incantations to heal him. His bones popped back into place and it was agony.

By the time it was over, Draco was a sobbing mess and they were both covered in sweat and blood.

It took him a minute, but Malfoy was able to speak.

"I'm...sorry."

"Oh Draco...I should have come upstairs with you, I never should have left you alone..."

The pale boy gently shook his head, wincing.

"Not...your fault. Mine."

"Well that may be the case, but I still could have stopped you. I'm so sorry."

He wasn't sure why, but suddenly Draco was crying again. Harry looked so sad, whispering a cleaning spell.

"What can I get you?" He asks, distraught at his former-nemesis's state.

Draco closed his eyes.

 _End me,_ he thought.

"C...c..." for a harrowing moment, Harry feared he might curse himself again.

"Come...'ere. Come here," he pleaded.

"I-alright."

Harry used magic to slide Draco over just a few inches to give them both space, the sickly boy cringing in pain.

"Sorry."

He gently settled down on top of the sheets next to his former nemesis, who stared blankly at the ceiling.

"Better?" He asked. Malfoy only nodded.

Harry muttered a pain-relief charm, only to be met with Draco biting back a whimper.

"What's wrong?"

"Mmmhurts."

Harry glanced down to see Draco's bleeding forearm.

"Oh," he whispers softly. Harry rolled up the sleeve to see the wizard's fleshing in ribbons, gaping.

"I thought I healed that?"

Draco coughed, and it dawned on Harry what he'd done.

_Oh god._

He had used a spell to keep the wounds open, so that they'd never heal.

"Finite," he whispered tenderly, and fixed the damage.

Draco's eyes shot wide open and he immediately rolled on his side, facing away from Harry.

"W-what's wrong?" Draco just shook his head.

Harry cautiously rolled him over just to see how frail the boy had become.

"Merlin Draco, what happened to you?"

 _Finite_ had removed the glamour Draco cast on himself, leaving him raw and human.

He was far more gaunt than usual. Not skeletal, but skinny enough to be worrisome, yet still muscular. Still strong. 

_Good,_ Harry thought. _T_ _hat means his body’s still living off his fat stores._

He made a mental note to make sure it didn’t get to the point of muscle degradation, because guess which vital organ is made of muscle?

Yeah, Draco needed help. 

Bruises peppered his face, his hair thin and his lips dry.

"Happy now?" he pouted.

"I-Draco...I'm so sorry..."

Malfoy just shivered in the cold, so Harry pulled the blanket over him.

"Who did this to you?"

"Slytherins."

"What? Who??"

Draco smiled.

"Nobody you know. They're year sixes."

"...you could have stopped them, Draco. You fought in the bloody war."

"I know. I had it coming."

"That's bullshit."

"Yeah, who knows-maybe I'm just a masochist."

"Maybe?"

He snorted.

They're both quiet, until Harry pulled the blanket over himself as well and rolled over to face Draco.

"Disappointment?"

His face darkened.

"Yeah, that's me," he chuckled wryly.

"No, it isn't."

Harry magicked Draco's button down open and gestured toward the scar.

"Doesn't look like your handwriting," he pointed out.

Draco shivered a little.

"Brilliant observation Potter." He said, rolling his eyes.

"Then whose is it?"

His voice dies in his throat, and Draco clamped back on his Malfoy Mask.

"I told him I was sorry, but it never was enough."

Harry's face paled.

"Lucius?"

Draco just nodded.

"Holy shit. How-why?"

"He wanted me to kill you. I couldn't do it."

"Thought you hated me," Harry smirked.

"Yes, Potter, but.." the pale blonde waved his hand in the air.

"I couldn't. Simply couldn't."

"Why not?"

"For the same reason you couldn't let me die in there," he said softly, nodding to the bathroom.

Harry thinks.

"Oh," is all he could come up with.

"Yeah."

"Draco?"

"Yes Potter?"

"Why?"

"Pardon?"

"Why do you do this?"

"Do what?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"You know very well what I'm-the Room of Requirement, not eating, writing those horrible things on yourself, the scars-all the bloody scars, and don't even get me started on what I just found in the bathroom!"

Draco grinned.

"No, Malfoy, this isn't bloody funny. They call it the 'Torture Curse' for a reason!"

"I know."

"Then why would y-it's an unforgivable curse!"

"And I'm an unforgivable person! Don't you get it, Potter?"

"No! No I don't! I just...I just want you to be okay! Don't _you_ get _that_?"

"Why?" Draco spit, his self hatred beginning to turn outward.

Harry's big green eyes looked as if they were about to explode.

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!" He screamed, distraught.

For the first time, Draco was speechless.

No sarcastic quip, no scathing remark, no insults to hurl at the boy in front of him.

Harry's cheeks went beet-red, and he regarded the passing thought of hurling himself out the stained glass window to his left with a _‘Y’know what, that’s not such a bad idea.’_

"You shouldn't," is all Draco could say, before lying down on his side and attempting to sleep.

Harry sighed and got up, climbed into the empty bed next to Draco's.

"Well, I do." He said, stubborn as ever.

They both waited for morning, slipping into sleep. Right before Harry let the darkness take his mind, he could have sworn he heard a soft, broken voice from his right.

"I love you too," it said.

.

When Harry woke up, it was to the sound of someone in pain.

_Shit._

Soft groans to his right, Harry saw Malfoy's crumpled form shaking, and he got up slowly.

"Draco?"

"Hey mate, you alright?"

The boy continued shuddering.

He'd cast a pain hex on himself. Harry could see him with a wand to his heart, sickly green light flowing from its tip.

"Draco..."

There were tears in the young wizard's eyes.

"Draco put down the wand."

He just shook his head.

"H-hurts, Harry. _It_ _hurts so much_."

Harry's heart broke.

_He called me Harry..._

The brunette removed the wand without difficulty, prying it out of Malfoy's fingers and crawling back into bed next to him.

"It hurts, Harry."

"I know."

Draco clung onto him for dear life.

"Hurts..."


	2. They Don't Like Me Very Much

It was barely light in the room when Draco’s owl woke Harry up with a screech that reminded him far too much of Hedwig. Draco himself was nowhere to be found.

 _He's probably getting dressed or something,_ the young wizard reassured himself, yet his nerves still jangled. Harry glanced over to the calendar on the wall.

_It's Saturday..._

"Draco?"

Harry got up and put his slippers on, knocking on the bathroom door.

"Dracoo? Are you in there?"

"Ysh, mbrshn mth."

"What?"

"I said, I'm brushing my teeth!"

"Alright, alright, fine."

The blonde wizard took a miniscule dagger and snapped off the handle. Squeezing his eyes shut, he plunged it diagonally into his gut, and the pain etched itself on his forehead. Panting and sweating, Draco muttered an anti-bleeding spell and wrapped some gauze around his stomach feverishly.

"Draco!"

"Yeah-will you shut up? Blimey!"

Harry scoffs on the other side of the door.

"Dolor aggravesci," he whispered, feeling the throbbing in his abdomen flare up. He rolled his neck and swung the door open.

Harry sat on the other boy's bed, earning a glare from Draco when he walked out in chinos, cashmere socks and the poshest sneakers Harry’d ever seen. He left the top of his shirt unbuttoned, the loopy tops of the _s_ and _a_ of _disappointment peaking out when he moved._

"Do you ever dress casually?" 

Draco looked down at his trousers.

"This is casual!"

Harry wrinkled his nose, and got flipped off in return.

"Get out of my room," Draco grumbled from inside the closet.

"Fine. I'll find you later."

Harry hopped gingerly off the bed and stretched, heading downstairs. Three younger Slytherins were waiting outside the door, greeting him with confused looks. They raised an eyebrow at his dishevelled state.

"Erm...hi?" He said, and clopped down the stairs.

_Something's not right..._

He'd hardly made it to the bottom of the staircase before he heard the shouting.

"You fag! Shagging the golden boy, are you?"

"Dirty slut!"

Harry heard a body hit the floor. 

"With any luck, he'll give you the punishment you deserve."

"Saucio!"

Draco screamed.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? It's not like you're stopping us now!"

"Maybe he just knows 'e deserves it, piece of-"

"Oi!" Harry shouted, seeing all three boys surrounding a bleeding Malfoy. They looked reasonably shocked.

"What do you think you're doing??"

The students immediately closed their mouths, still staring.

"Out!! Now!"

The boys rushed out of the door. One of them stopped, reaching out his wand to hex the poor wizard one last time. Harry snatched it and snapped the wand over his knee, tossing the broken pieces out into the hall.

"I said get the fuck out."

He scurried away and Harry locked the door, rushing to Draco's side.

"What did they-"

"Stabbing-" he winces. "Stabbing hex."

"Holy shit"

There was blood flowing from the boy's crisp shirt-now red with blood. Harry cast aside the un-torn shirt to reveal the two bloody gashes underneath.

"Vulnera S-"

"Dolor Aggravesci!" Draco cried, then clenched his jaw as the wounds in his stomach somehow worsened.

"Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur..."

Harry muttered, the wounds closing up.

"Tergeo."

The bloodstains around them disappeared.

Harry looked Draco in the eyes, a concerned fury sparking like lightning. 

"What did you do that for?" He demanded.

"I could've asked you the same thing."

"That's not-Draco, I was helping you!!"

"I never needed you to! I was handling it just fine on my own."

"You _what_? Malfoy, they were beating the shit out of you! And then you made it worse!"

"Blimey, I hadn't noticed!"

Harry just shook his head.

"I didn't even know that hex existed," he admitted.

"You'd be surprised what a galleon and a box of chocolate frogs will get you in year six."

"I can't believe they did that to you..."

"I certainly can. Think about it-their parents probably told them about the war, about how I'm dangerous, just like they worship you. It's really no surprise they came after me."

"Fine, but why didn't you fight back? They didn’t stand a chance. You fought in the bloody war!"

"Why do you think, Potter?"

His steel grey eyes were cold and kind.

"You're wrong."

"Am I?"

"You're very, very wrong about quite a lot of things."

Draco grinned teasingly.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. For one, you don't _deserve_ any of this. I killed people too, Draco. Tortured them. I tortured you once, remember?"

They both recall the incident so long ago in the bathroom.

 _Sectumsempra-for enemies_ , the book had told him. He'd no idea what it meant.

"But you know what, Draco? I was a kid. We both were. I hate myself for hurting you, but hurting myself won't change anything."

It occurred to Draco that perhaps Potter was only helping him out of guilt.

The pale boy just stared at Harry. His unruly hair, his wiry glasses. He reached up to touch the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead, making him flinch in fear, then shiver pleasantly. 

"Um...Draco?"

"Right! Sorry...you don't feel-I'm sorry."

"No, I just-it's the weekend. I thought you might walk down to the Three Broomsticks with me?"

"The three...yeah." is all he said, and practically ignored Harry thenceforth.

 _Odd_ , he thinks.

The boy stopped at the door.

"Just don't get beat up this time, eh?"

"Mm."

Draco heaved a sigh, lifting the charm he'd used to hide the bandages from the morning's...activities. He could feel the small blade digging around with every breath.

He grinned. 

.

Ron and Hermione were talking on the couch in the common room.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" Ron shrieked, a little too loudly.

"Harry!"

The witch turned around on the couch, and wrinkled her nose.

"You look awful."

"Did you-wait where were you? You didn't get wasted, did you?"

"What? No. I was just-helping someone with...homework."

Hermione squinted at him.

"No, you were with Draco."

He stopped dead in his tracks.

"I-"

"You what?"

Ron was indignant.

"After everything that bastard did?"

Hermione laid a hand on his.

"Ron, it's alright-"

"No it's not! Harry I get that we're supposed to be all chummy after the war but-but not _Malfoy_! He was a death eater! He killed people!"

"So did I. We all did." The boy was too tired to argue.

"Yeah, but not like that!"

"Leave me alone, Ron." he huffed, and went upstairs to shower.

Once Harry was out of earshot, Hermione glared at him.

"Ron!" She hissed.

"What?"

"You need to stop. You know he’s got a thing for Draco, why would you-"

"He what?"

Hermione smirked.

"Come on, you can't possibly be that daft."

"How could he? We're the ones who fought with him! _For_ him-I don't-"

"Ron, shut up. This is one of those moments where you need to shut up. And trust me."

She eyed him knowingly, and he knocked his head against her shoulder. 

.

"What do I do, Hedwig?"

The window ledge was empty, and it hurt. 

“Yeah.”

Harry pocketed his phone and wand, and headed downstairs.

Ron and Hermione were gone.

 _Must've gone to brunch,_ he thought.

So Harry ran downstairs and pulled out his map, his heart racing when he saw the location.

He found Draco at the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling over the ledge.

Harry walked up just loud enough so the troubled wizard would hear him approaching. He sat down a foot away, looking down at the ground.

"That's a long way down," he noted.

Draco smiled mysteriously.

"It certainly is, Potter."

"Maybe we should...not sit so close to the edge?"

"On the contrary."

_I knew I shouldn't have left him alone._

"Draco, you’re not seriously thinking of...?”

The boy shook his head. 

“No, no. Just relaxing,” he insisted. Harry didn’t buy it for one second. 

He took his hand and pulled Draco to his feet. The wizard's eyes were frozen, still locked longingly on the ground.

"Let's go."

He followed Harry with no resistance, only truly waking up when they'd made it outside.

They walked in silence, Harry's hand still in Draco's. It was just to help guide him, Harry told himself. Yet the young Malfoy made no effort to remove it, even after he'd snapped out of his dissociative trance.

"Draco...we need to talk about what happened. You know that, right?"

"I don't have to talk to you about anything, Potter," he spat.

_Wow...and yet he's still holding my hand. Weird._

"I just want to help you."

"You can't."

"And you can't keep... _torturing_ _yourself!_ Draco...you're dying."

The pale boy smiled.

"I mean-you're slowly killing yourself! How do you not get that? If you keep-"

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe that was the point!?"

Draco's hand slips from Harry's grip, and tears threaten to spill over his long lashes.

The look in his eyes broke Harry's heart.

"Did you _ever_ stop to think that maybe I like the pain? That maybe, I'm fine on my own? That I don't need you to save me?"

He shook, a single tear slipping down his porcelain cheek. They were flushed now, pinkish capillaries and ashen skin. He wiped it away vigorously.

"Draco..."

A strangled sound died in his throat, and without thinking, Harry pulled him close in a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry..." he whined, his stomach throbbing.

"Don't be. C'mon. Let's go get some butter beer."

The rest of the walk was quiet, their hands still inexplicably entwined. Neither of them mentioned it.

Once they got into Hogsmeade and strode through the inviting doors of the Three Broomsticks, Harry ushered Draco into a booth.

"I'll go order."

The pale wizard slumped over, fiddling with his hands. Harry watched him from the line in front of the counter. 

_What am I going to do with him?_

He returned as soon as possible, sitting across from the older boy and putting the warm drink on the table in front of him, where the froth was scrutinised by Draco as if it had offended him.

"So," he started, "do your parents know?"

Harry immediately regretted that statement.

"I-" he choked.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"I-it's fine, I just...they're gone."

"What?"

"They killed my father, and my mother..."

"You don't have to tell me, it's okay."

"She died trying to-oh god..."

"Shhh, it's alright."

Harry put his hands over Draco's.

The pale wizard cleared his throat and straightened up.

"Voldemort...he tried to use the Cruciatus on me, and she jumped-she jumped in the way."

"Oh..."

"It killed her.”

 _Just like it should have killed me,_ he thought.

"Draco I'm so sorry."

"Me too."

Tears dropped into Draco's butterbeer.

"What about-do you have anyone else?"

"Of course. But they wouldn't-they would just-I can't, Harry."

_He called me Harry again..._

"I get it."

"Do you?"

"I've got the Dursleys, remember?"

The boy nods.

"Right. Sorry."

"What would happen if you did? Surely someone would take you in."

Draco grimaced.

"They wouldn't. And if they did it'd be even scarier. I mean, they'd-they'd probably-I don't even want to imagine what they'd do to me. My family's fucked up."

Harry's eyes darkened, remembering the vivid scar on his chest from Lucius.

"Damn."

"Yeah."

"I wish-I wish you could stay with me," Harry said. "But I fear it'd be equally worse."

Draco cocked an eyebrow.

"Why?"

The boy waved a hand dismissively.

"They just-nah."

"Spill the tea, girl." Draco giggles.

_That was perhaps the gayest thing he's ever said._

"I-they don't-they don't like me very much, my muggle relatives. They’re not the kindest people."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry sighed and looked around. The only other customers were on the other side of the room, hungover graduates.

_They probably haven't faded yet-school only just started._

He rolled his eyes and muttered "finite."

The glamour he'd cast faded away, revealing the bruises all over his face and shoulder, which peeked out from under his sheer sweater.

"I-"

Draco was speechless.

"How did-why didn't you stop them?"

"Can't use magic."

"Oh come on, Harry. You know they don't give a shit about us doing that anymore."

"Still."

The pale wizard frowned.

”Why haven’t you healed them yet?”

Harry faltered. 

“I-if I need to go back, they’ll be suspicious. Bruises don’t just disappear that quickly.”

 _Why would he need to go back?_ Draco was suspicious. 

"Well, I'm really sorry. That's awful."

"Yeah, well...maybe we can get a flat together," he jokes.

"Yeah...I wonder what happened to my house."

"Mm?"

"The manor. I wonder what's happened to it."

"Probably just left it to rot."

"I could fix it. Who knows."

"I mean...you could, sure."

Draco slurps his warm drink.

"You know I'm not going to let you be alone anymore, right?"

"What? Potter, I don't need a babysitter."

"Apparently, you do. How do I know you're not going to...curse yourself again?"

"It's not your problem."

"But now it is. I can't, in good conscience, let you go on like this."

"So you just feel guilty. Is that it?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"No. I like-well, I care."

Draco smirked.

Harry's face went bright red.

"Um...Yeah."

The Slytherin laughed heartily, and Harry thought it a beautiful sound. 

They finished up and walked back to Draco's room.

"Potter, why are you here? I've got homework."

"Remember? I'm coming everywhere with you now."

He rolled his eyes.

"Fine."

He pulled out a quill and started scratching things into a book, and Harry sat next to him on his phone.

"W-what is that?"

"This? Oh, it's a muggle thing. iPhone."

"That's-is that allowed?"

"Nope."

"Ah. Why are there people on it? What are they doing?"

Harry sighed, and turned the volume up.

"I'm watching The Office."

Draco looked as confused as ever. Harry sighed.

"Remember when we were kids, and there were those books with moving pictures?"

He nodded.

"Well, it's like that, except the whole story is told in the picture. With actors."

"Oh, so it's like a...like a play?"

"Yep."

Harry wondered why he hadn’t just said that to begin with. 

"Oh. Sounds like a waste of time to me," he scoffed.

Yet as the episode progressed, Draco found himself looking over Harry's shoulder, who sighed and rolled over on the bed to face him.

"If you want to watch, here."

He handed the wizard an earbud, and levitated the phone so that they both could watch, casting a growth charm so that the screen expanded to the size of a television. It didn’t work quite the way he’d wanted it to, since it still had the same number of pixels and the result was a shitty-quality video. The blonde didn’t seem to mind, though, and much to his chagrin, Draco soon found himself laughing at the buffoons on screen.

Harry was falling fast asleep on his shoulder, and he felt a twang of guilt.

_He was up all night taking care of me._

_God, I'm an idiot._

The boy's chocolate hair was ruffled up, his glasses crooked. Plump, pink lips beckoned him. Without thinking, Draco leaned in and kissed him.

_What the fuck am I doing?? He hates me!_

Harry's eyes shot open in alarm and Draco immediately pulled back.

"Sorry, I don't know what...I'm sorry."

The boy just smiled.

"Took you long enough."

This time Harry moved in, their lips colliding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go eat some chocolate. You deserve it.


	3. Paper Cups

Draco hated Mondays.

Well, many people did.

But this was a particularly horrible one.

He'd had no classes with Harry at all.

Not that it mattered.

_You don’t need Harry to hold your hand._

The pale wizard clutched his wand, shivering.

He balanced it on his finger, inspecting the ornate carvings. It was an expensive one too. More importantly, it worked really well, and was excellently weighted.

The perfect instrument.

Since his father had bought it for him, its usefulness was the only thing keeping him from destroying it. He had already incinerated all the gifts his father had given him over the years, including the jacket he’d gotten on his sixteenth. Lucius was a man who believed in function over form; the coat was lined with protective wards. It looked plain but it was sturdy. That one took extra long to burn when it joined the desk, shoes and various pens in the bonfire in his backyard. The neat, flawless lawn still bore a huge scorch mark he didn’t dare fix. It made him smile. 

Chuckling to himself, Draco traced the wand around his ankle absentmindedly.

He held the delicate wand up to the light and whispered.

"Misfaci"

The wand glowed, and he spun it around to face himself.

He felt scared.

Excited.

The usual.

Shakily, he touched the wand to the space right between either sides of his ribcage.

It wasn't too bad at first. Just a dull throb, really.

"Acerbo," he muttered. The pain intensified, setting his whole body alight.

He gritted his teeth.

"Draco?" Harry called.

_Fuck._

"Draco, you in there?"

"Yeah, give me a second."

He re-wrapped the bloodied gauze around his torso and washed his hands frantically. Slightly ticked off, he opened the door.

"What?"

"It's dinner time," Harry stated plainly.

"W-you know I don't-"

"Well, you are now. Come on."

Draco groaned, knowing there was no point in arguing.

Harry led him downstairs to the mess hall, and was glowered at by 90% of the paintings that hung on the walls. One of them even twirled knife at him.

He was dragged to the Gryffindor table and gulped when he saw who he would be forced to eat with. Draco cast his gaze down, and Ron glared daggers at him, earning him a swift kick from Hermione under the table. 

"Hello Draco," she said sweetly.

"Hi."

He looked up at her, and she seemed genuinely kind.

_That's nice._

She passed him the basket of bread rolls and he took one out of necessity, dropping it heavily on his plate but not even looking at it after that.

It was awkwardly quiet, except for the raucous voices of the other students that surrounded them. Ron was an idiot. But the girl-the girl scared Draco. She was cunning, but not malevolent. She was one of the few people he found impossible to read.

"So, we haven't really...we haven't really seen you around," Hermione pointed out.

"No, I've been...rather busy."

"Oh, anything interesting?"

Draco held his mouth open to speak.

_I mean, is it interesting?_

"Not really," he gasped out, clutching his abdomen where the dagger lay embedded.

"Are you quite alright?"

Draco nodded.

"Just tired."

There was a certain tightness in the corner of his eyes that unnerved Harry. 

Soon enough though, the three begin talking about-well, did it matter? Not to Draco, certainly. 

Draco tried to shrink into the nothingness to which he was accustomed.

"Not hungry?"

His eyes snapped up.

"Me? Oh, I erm...I had a snack earlier."

"Oh."

"So anyway," Ron continued, but Hermione continued to eye him suspiciously. Suspiciously, but also concerned. That made it even worse.

By the time dinner was over, Harry had forced him to eat three bites of bread and part of a drumstick. His stomach roiled.

"Erm..."

_Shit._

"Bathroom," he muttered in his ear, and walked hurriedly to the lavatories, breaking into a desperate run for the last eight metres.

He clamped his mouth shut and booked it down the hall, then promptly threw up in the toilet.

The small blade dug into his abdomen as he retched, and it just made the whole ordeal that much more miserable. Of course, it wasn't long before Harry walked in.

"Oh Draco..."

He handed the wizard a glass of water, which he drank gratefully.

Five agonising minutes later, Draco had voided his stomach of food and managed to stop dry heaving.

Harry helped him shakily to his feet, slipping an arm under his shoulder for support.

They stumbled up staircase after staircase to Draco's room, having stopped only to leave the glass in the nearly empty mess hall. The only one left was McGonagall, and she nodded at Harry.

They both reached Draco’s bedroom, who sat woozily down on the bed, panting.

"So," Harry said, his arm around frail shoulders.

"Draco, when was the last time you ate?"

"I just did."

"No, before them."

The boy frowned.

"Erm...I had a handful of almonds yesterday."

"A full meal."

"I-I honestly-well, to be fair, you and I have very different definitions of a 'full meal'."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"What am I going to do with you?"

"God only knows," Draco grinned mischievously.

In an instant, their lips smashed together awkwardly. It got easier, though, and soon Harry straddled the other wizard, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

Draco's eyes shot open.

"Wait no no no-"

"What's this?"

_Fuck._

Harry continued unbuttoning to see the rest of the gauze that wrapped round his stomach.

"I-nothing, just...nothing."

"Draco what did you do."

The wizard squeezed his eyes shut, waiting.

Harry unwound the gauze carefully, sliding it under Draco's back and around again.

He shivered.

The last layer of gauze was peeled back to reveal the jagged blade, small and glinting.

"Did-did you do this? Was it the boys?"

"I-I did."

"Merlin, how long has this been here?" He asked, prodding the wound which elicited a sharp gasp from Draco.

"Sorry."

"Erm...Saturday?"

"Wh-you've had this thing in you since Saturday??"

Draco nodded tearfully.

"Jesus christ. Okay...okay, wait here."

Harry disappeared into the bathroom, and Draco poked the wound.

_Blimey that's painful. I can't believe I let him find out...stupid stupid stupid-_

"Draco what on Earth are you doing?" He was staring at him, horrified, towels in hand.

"I-oh, sorry..."

He'd been pressing his thumb into the wound, pushing the blade in deeper and deeper. Blood bubbled to the skin.

Harry levitated the dagger out of Draco's flesh, and it made a popping sound before jiggling free. The wizard whimpered.

"I'm sorry..."

He sent the blade flying into the trash can, then healed the gash with magic.

"Tergeo," he sighed, tossing the towels and his wand aside.

Without warning, Harry leaned down and planted a kiss on the place where the blade used to be.

"You really should stop hurting yourself."

"I know. I'm sorry you have to deal with me."

"I'd rather deal with you now than your corpse."

Draco laughs.

"Really though. Next time, come to me, yeah?"

"Sure. Can't guarantee that I'll stop, though."

"I know."

"I can't stop."

"I know. At least, you can't stop yet."

"I don't want to."

"You need to, Draco. For me. Please."

"Bold of you to assume I care that much about you," he retorted.

"I don't need to assume." Harry just smiled, Draco rolling his eyes.

"God Potter, you're so mushy."

"I-"

"Shhh," Harry said.

"I'm so sorry, about this, about the fact that I'm such a-"

"Shut. Up."

Harry grinned, pecking his cheek.

.

Draco hadn't showed up for any of his classes.

He'd thought nothing of it-he'd surely be at potions. Malfoy loved potions.

And yet here he was, sitting at the back of the class waiting for his partner.

Nothing.

Harry sighed.

"Professor-loo?"

He nodded.

"Yes yes, hurry."

He strode calmly out, and ran down the hall and summoned the room of requirement.

The giant doors opened wide, and he skidded into the room.

In the middle sat Draco, legs folded beneath him. He was hunched over.

He was muttering something in Latin.

"Draco?"

The boy stiffened and turned to face him.

"Oh. Potter."

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved. Harry was expecting a bloody mess...or worse.

"What are you up to?"

"Just...trying to reach my brother."

His eyebrows shot off his forehead.

"Your whAT?"

He squeaked.

"Yes, Harry, I have a brother. Older. He's...his name's Fern. Lives in America."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Why now?"

Harry crossed the room and sat down next to him.

"Pardon?"

"Why are you contacting him now?"

"Well," He sighed, and shifted himself over to face him.

"This is our last year here. I was hoping he'd let me stay with him whilst I figure things out."

"Oh. Can't you stay at your old place?"

"I want to, I just...memories. I guess."

"You gonna buy your own place?"

"Yeah...it's a frightening thought thought, I'll be honest."

"I-Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Remember what I said when we were in Hogsmeade?"

"I probably wasn't listening."

"What if we were flatmates?" he blurted.

Draco bit his lip in thought.

"Flatmates?"

"Yeah. Flatmates."

"As in-mates who share a flat?"

"Er...yes. That-that is what that means."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Ok."

Harry frowned.

"Just...okay?"

"Yes. Okay. Great idea. Fantastic."

"Oh. Really?"

"Yes. Although-we really don't need to. We could just have our own places."

Harry's face fell, but he quickly hid it.

"Sure-but you know I'll just be sleeping on your couch all the time."

Draco nodded defeatedly.

"True."

"I mean, we've got time."

"Right, yes."

"Loads of time."

"Mhmm."

Neither of them make eye contact for a short while, Draco chewing on his lip and Harry fiddling with his hands.

"We should get going-it's nearly lunchtime."

Draco's eyes darted to the corner of the room.

"Can I stay here?"

"Draco, you've got to eat. Come on."

"It's loud and smelly and there are people."

Harry laughed.

"Yes Draco, there are people in the real world."

"But I don't like them very much."

"I'm a person!"

"Ugh don't remind me."

"Oh!"

Harry scoffed, and the pale wizard met him with a smirk.

"Good Godrick-Malfoy, was that humour?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

.

The boys spent the rest of lunch in the room, mostly making out and watching TV on Harry's phone. The afternoon rumbled on like a panzer-heavy and unavoidable.

It was dinner soon enough, and for once, Draco was animated. Lively. The wizards strode into the mess hall hand-in-hand and sat across from a stunned Hermione and Ron.

They ended up talking through most of dinner, earning more than a few whispers.

"No, I know-but that scene with Legolas was ridiculous."

"I thought it was cool."

"It was impossible-at least, to the muggles, the target audience."

"Yeah, but we know better."

"They don't! It's a work of fic-"

Ron started laughing uncontrollably.

"-tion. Fiction."

Hermione sipped her tea and eyed them both dubiously. Amused.

"What?"

Harry grinned as well and grabbed a biscuit from the platter.

"What?? What is it?"

Draco was confused as hell.

"I-" Hermione started, but shut her mouth, shaking her head and smiling.

"Merlin, you people are strange."

Ron chuckled.

" _We're_ strange? Y-nevermind."

"What are they-Harry what?" He laughed. 

"It's a good thing," is all he said, and poured Draco some more jasmine tea.

Ron told them all about the squirrel he met while he was skipping arithmancy class, and the arithmancy professor himself who was walking by smacked him in the back of the head, then kept walking. 

The four of them talked their way to Gryffindor house, engrossed in conversation until the Fat Lady gave Draco a stern look. A hush fell over the small crowd of students in the living room.

Harry glared at them.

"Carry on," he said.

They all sat on Ron's bed and drank the foggleberry wine he smuggled from the teachers' cellar out of heavy goblets, while Harry played music from his phone.

"What is that?" Ron asked.

"Oh Merlin, not you too."

"Harry, you're not supposed to have that!" Hermione hissed.

"Shhhhhh. Everybody alright with The Smiths?"

"What's a Smith?"

"SHUT IIIIT!" Someone yelled from downstairs.

They giggled, and the tinny music rang from the smartphone speakers.

The hours wasted away playing UNO and reminiscing. Because they were mature young people who took themselves very seriously, and UNO is in no way a children's game.

Wine sloshed and Hermione slowly fell asleep against Ron's shoulder.

Harry smiled.

"Okay guys, we should really-blimey, it's two o'clock."

Ron hiccuped.

"Yeah...she's exhausted..." he said, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"Right then."

Draco tossed the bottle under the bed and Harry helped put the UNO cards away.

Ron tenderly laid her down, helping her take her shoes off as she sluggishly batted her eyes.

Harry took this as their cue to leave.

"Alright mate. G'night."

"Night."

He winked, and Harry and Draco slunk out the door and downstairs.

They apparated quickly to just outside of Draco's room.

"Fuck, hold on-lemme grab my pyjamas," Harry said.

He disappeared with a zing and a whoosh, and tiptoed up to his and Ron's door.

"Ron? Ron!" He whispered.

The ginger opened the heavy wood door with a creak.

"Yeah?"

"I need something to sleep in."

"Oh. Okay. But shhhh."

Ron looked over at Hermione curled up under the covers in a fresh t-shirt, her blouse, shoes and rough jeans slung over the back of a chair. He looked at her like she was a slumbering baby, just brought home from the hospital. Harry smiled, and grabbed a new shirt and sweats while Ron climbed back in bed next to Hermione.

"You sure you're gonna end up wearing those at all?" He grinned mischievously.

"Ron!" He giggled.

"Thanks, by the way. For being so cool about me and Draco."

"Yeah...I wasn't at first, but then 'Mione yelled at me. I'm an idiot."

Harry smirked, and the girl in question stirred in her sleep.

"Y'guys are...whisper r'lly loud," she muttered and accidentally whacked Ron in the face with her arm.

"Good night," Harry mouthed, and shut the door gently.

He was met with a glare from a year seven kid downstairs on the couch as he apparated back outside of Draco's bedroom door. He took a moment to notice how comparatively darker it was here, in the Slytherin tower. Dark and brooding. He snapped out of it, hearing a noise on the other side of the door.

"Keep your filthy mouth shut, you mongrel!" Someone whisper-shouted.

_Shit._

Harry broke down the door in an instant, wand-drawn. One of the janitors was standing over Draco, a hand to his mouth and a gladius; an ancient roman shortsword-yes, an actual sword (welcome to Hogwarts) to his neck. Tears and sweat trailed down the poor boy's face, a black eye starting to form and his shirt torn open. There was blood on the floor.

"Expelliarmus!" He hissed, and the sword embedded itself in a nearby painting of Salazar Slytherin. The man's hand immediately went to his pocket where his wand lay, but Harry quickly levitated it under the bed. The janitor grimaced, and was sent flying out the window and into the Whomping Willow. Harry paused for a moment, and heard an awful lot of banging about, followed by screaming, followed by the rustle of branches. He nodded in contentment, then ran to Draco's side, who sat with his back against the wall, sweating.

"What did he-oh."

The word _traitor_ was scrawled across the wizard's chest in blood and Harry quickly healed it, then moved on and tended to the small cut on the side of his neck and the bruised eye. Draco remained emotionless, staring just over Harry's shoulder, offering no response.

He put his wand down and sat next to the broken boy, helping him take off his shirt.

"Draco," he said gently. "What the fuck was that? Who-why?"

Draco sighed.

"I don't know. Probably sent by someone at the ministry."

"The ministry??"

"Or, at least, someone from outside. You know how it is."

Harry nodded, and ran quickly to Draco's closet to get him an undershirt to sleep in and sat on the floor next to him.

"Listen, Draco I'm really sorry about...about everything."

"Not your fault, you idiot."

"No, I know, but I'm sorry in general. This sucks."

"You can always leave," he pointed out.

"Oh, come on-you know that's not gonna happen."

"It could. You could."

"Draco,"

"You probably should, come to think of it."

"Draco shut up. I'm here, whether you like it or not. And I'm sorry for letting that man get to you."

"You didn't do anything. You were gone for three minutes, for Merlin's sake. I could have fought back," he murmurs, twirling his delicate unused wand between his fingers.

"Yeah-why didn't you?"

Icy grey eyes snap onto Harry's like a predator, but his voice is weak and his tone gentle. Tired.

"Why do you think, Potter."

"Did...did you like it?"

He smirked.

"Yeah, a little bit. The atmosphere, mostly, not the whole...’I’m going to mutilate you with my sword’ thing. 'S not why I didn’t fight back, though. I just...deserved it."

"Ah-so we're still stuck there."

"There's really nowhere else to go."

"You could move on," Harry offered. He shifted his posture to face him, cocking his head.

"You could move past all this. Just leave it behind."

"I really can't. I need to pay for what I've done."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Draco you can only die once. And given your current state, I'm not entirely sure how much more torture you could handle. So...pursuing that path seems like a pointless endeavour. Why not...I dunno...help people. Um...yeah. Help people do stuff."

Draco's brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

"What?"

"I don't know, just-graduate, move somewhere, get a job that has a positive impact on the world and use that to repay. Hurting yourself won't help anyone."

"Do you think that's what the people I hurt would have wanted?"

"Draco they're dead-not sure if you've noticed. Therefore rendering their 'wants' irrelevant. And no, no I don't think this is what they'd want."

"You don't know that."

"No, you're right. I don't. But you also don't know if they want you to...y'know. It's all conjecture. But the least you can do is look to see what the people around you want for you, since the dead don't seem very talkative!" He spat. Draco stiffened, and ran hands along his eyes. The wind howled outside, whistling through the broken window.

"Sorry Drac-"

"No, you're-you're kind of right."

Harry's eyes lit up.

"Don't let it get to your head, Potter. But...it's true that I don't seem to be going anywhere. And I know I definitely could. Go places, that is. We should go places. The two of us."

"Mmm. Glad you're finally starting to come to your senses."

Draco laughed.

"Oh please. Like that's ever gonna happen. No, I'm just getting bored of this."

Harry chuckles.

"Some things never change..." he mused.

Grinning, he leaned in and planted his lips on Draco's. Harry picked Draco up and tossed him into their bed. Hanging over his head, he came in close and whispered.

"I've got to put on my pyjamas."

He nipped Draco's ear as he pulled away, earning a squeal.

Harry didn't bother going to the bathroom to change-he did so just around the corner with his back turned, knowing full well Draco'd be peeking.

He folded his trousers and robes from earlier and dropped them on the other bed, and turned out the lights with his wand, casting a quick spell to repair the stained glass window.

Draco was in bed on Harry's phone, and he walked up with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

"Hey, mind if I...slytherin?"

Draco looked up slowly, the most menacing glare he could manage pointed at Harry. Who started laughing. _Not cowering in fear..._

The brunette hopped onto the bed and under the covers, eliciting a groan from Draco.

"Stooop," he whined. "You're making me cold, you arse."

Harry snuggled up to him under the comforter and rested his head on his shoulder, arms around his waist, listening to the click of the window repairing itself.

"Hi."

"Hello." Draco feigned annoyance. But he feigned it. It was obvious.

He sighed and pointed the smartphone screen at Harry.

"What's this?"

"That?" Harry adjusted his glasses and squinted at the bright light like an old man.

"Oh, that's Dudley's Xbox."

"His what?"

"It's...it's called a gaming console. A muggle thing. They play games and it shows up on a TV. Except instead of tapping the screen they use remotes. And the games are better."

"Oh."

"Why are you going through my camera roll?"

"Am I not supposed to?" He asked, not really caring what the answer was.

"No, it's fine. I don't care. Just curious."

"What does yeet mean?"

Harry snorted.

"What?"

"It-it's a joke. Sort of. This schoolgirl threw a soda can and screamed 'this bitch empty-yeet!' in a video and ever since then it's become a generation-wide joke...but strictly speaking, it's a verb. To throw."

"Oh."

Draco fiddled with the buttons on the outside, turning the volume up, down and up again before finally managing to turn it off and hand it to Harry, who plugged it in and set his glasses down.

In the cold moonlight, Draco shut his eyes and cuddled into Harry, hiding his face in his chest.

"I'm sorry," he choked, his voice muffled. Harry just carded his hand through his soft blonde locks.

"It's alright." Harry smiled. "Remember when you used to hate me?" He mused.

"Bold of you to assume I don't hate you now," he grumbled.

"It sure doesn't look that way."

"Shut up," he muttered, and held Harry closer, who in turn planted a kiss atop his head.

They lay like that for a while. Harry felt his nerves tingling in his toes and fingers, the back of his neck.

"I love you a lot, Draco Malfoy."

"Of course you do," he giggled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there ya go. Fluff.


	4. Wandless Magic of a Different Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, okay, I’m a terrible person and I’m fucking sorry. So here you go. R e a d.

Four weeks. 

Four weeks had passed since Potter had infiltrated his life, his bed. His mind.

Draco struggled to battle the Lucius inside him, his sneering and violent whispers, reminding him of what he was waiting for when he got home, when this was finally over. He thought often about what he’d do. He could run off with Harry, be flatmates, as the two had not-so-jokingly joked. For a moment, he contemplated how upset he was going to feel about being disinherited as he knew he would, but then he remembered. 

_Oh right, they’re dead._

_The both of them._

With Lucius, it was rather straightforward. Draco lost him years ago, bade goodbye to “daddy” and hello to “father.” 

_Which happens. Dads leave, no need to be a pussy about it._

The wizard smiled, remembering the film he and Harry had watched the night before, the one about the man encased in metal, the one who fought hard as a hero and twice as hard to deny that he was one. 

_It’s true, though._

_No need to be a pussy._ Draco felt a twinge of disgust in himself as he realised that he should be sad. The man who brought him into this wretched world and who cared for him up until the ripe old age of six…

_Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t be sad._

He knew what his father had been, knew what he could have been. He knew where he’d been and the things he’d done, and most of all, he knew exactly where he was now. 

His mother, 

_Well…_

Narcissa Malfoy was a different situation entirely. 

She was no saint. Her name fit her perfectly, too perfectly. Sometimes Draco wondered if perhaps she liked it that way. The vain, beautiful wife of a powerful man, useful and ignorant when needed. But he knew her. He knew her better than the man she married, better than her own parents whom her husband had slain. 

_Or maybe I just knew a version of_ _her_.

_Not quite her, not quite anyone_

_Just somebody’s wife and someone else’s mother, and maybe, she could’ve been another man’s daughter_

Draco didn’t know where she was now. He didn’t believe in foolish things like heaven and hell, but everyone else did and he wasn’t sure. His mother was gone. Gone where? If he were to hazard a guess, he’d draw a blank. If there was a tartarus, fields of punishment, purgatory-he knew that one day, he’d meet his father there. 

_Hopefully sooner rather than later…_ he thought. 

But his mother...she was something else. She married Lucius, knowing the full extent of his vicious temper and sadistic tendencies, and then had a child with the man! A fucking child! It was probably the only instance where Draco knew he had been wronged and was actually upset about it. She put up with his abuse, even went so far as to pretend she enjoyed it. It sickened him, and so many times he remembered his father’s roaring, the broken glass and the anger in the air. His mother sauntering in and taking it all for him, with a smile and a sultry, and _Lucius, darling, come to bed, my love. I’ll make you feel alright_. 

The great thing about the manor was that it was just big enough that three people could exist within it without having to confront each other’s presence for weeks at a time, but those nights...

Those nights were different. He could hear his mother’s pained laughs and squeals of false excitement and pleasure from miles away, from where he hid in his room in front of the fire with his wand in a puddle of blood because Lucius Malfoy was _that_ powerful; he could hurt Draco from anywhere, using the boy himself as a tool. The wizard shook his head to rid it of the thoughts, starting slightly at a warm hand on his shoulder. 

“Draco?” The voice was so soft yet husky, so _melodic,_ and it gave Draco goosebumps in the way only the most profound of songs could. 

_Jesus, I’m a mess_

“It’s lunch.”

“I don’t-I don’ t want to.”

“And I don’t want to have to drag your arse to Hogsmeade on my own so c’mon, up you go.”

The pale wizard groaned audibly in a way that unintentionally made Harry’s brains swim between his ears. He regained composure soon, though, and a coat was thrust into Draco’s arms and he was whisked out into the hallway, where he stopped and turned back to lock his door. The minute he was done Harry apparated them downstairs, where they immediately were shouted at. 

“Boys!”

Harry just grinned at him. 

“No apparating within the school grounds, you know the rules! Come here this instant!”

“Accio firebolt,” Draco whispered and the fastest of his brooms hurtled across the grounds and swept them fifty feet into the air. 

“FIFTY POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR AND SLYTHERIN!” 

Potter just giggled and wrapped his arms around his torso comfortably. Draco made no comment when the hinge of Harry’s glasses dug steadily into the his spine. 

They headed for a little pub on the east side of the town, the broomstick screeching loudly as they pulled into the lot at a speed far beyond unnecessary. Harry just rolled his eyes at Draco’s smug grin, passersby murmuring because it’ not often that a stupidly fast broom like his was seen in a small town like Hogsmeade. The pale wizard hovered the sleek transport into one of the ports on the side of the building, setting an extra ward on it so if anyone tried to steal it, they’d turn an abhorrent shade of yellow for-oh, about an hour. They made their way to the front doors which open automatically, and an elven host showed them to a booth by the window. 

“You are an insolent git, you know that?” Harry stated, though the look on his face still says _I love you._

Draco just smiled at the menu. 

“I take pleasure in the little things,” he said. 

Harry ordered a stew and he got a measly side salad. 

“That’s meant to be a side.”

“Mhmm.”

“Not a full meal.”

“Mhmm.”

“Which means you need to eat more than that.”

Draco frowned. 

“Why should I let labels govern my life? I say, liberate the salad from its “side dish” status. Let it be a full salad.”

“That’s only half a meal.”

“Does that mean Peter Dinklage is only half a man?”

 _God, why did I let him watch Game of Thrones?_ He thought. 

“Listen, I will liberate your shoulder from its socket if you don’t order a sandwich.”

Mischief sparkled in Draco’s eyes. 

“Oh I really don’t want one now.”

Harry thunked his head onto the table. 

“Why are you such a goddamn masochist??” He grumbled.

Draco just smirked and when the waitress came with their food. Harry ordered a BLT for him, which he nibbled at. Draco didn’t miss that it was the plainest sandwich on the menu, which must have been intentional. Still, he prodded it with a spindly finger. 

“I don’t like the way it’s looking at me.”

“What?”

“It’s giving me a weird look.”

“It’s...it’s a sandwich. It can’t.”

“I know that, but-“

“Oh come on Malfoy stop poking at it and eat the damned thing. Can’t look at you then, right?”

He shrugged and took a tentative bite, then another, and another after that until half the sandwich was gone, and all that remained were a little pile of chips and the croutons from his salad. Harry eyed him and Draco dipped a chip in brown sauce and held it up before crunching it down and pushing his place away as if to say _‘no more, no matter what.’_ Draco paid while Harry was desperately patting his pockets, and by the time he pulled out a pouch of galleons the food is paid for and the blonde was pulling his overcoat on. Harry noticed he didn’t tip-which he always does. He’s grateful for this as he drops a coin onto the tray with the bill and follows the troubled wizard out the door. The pair rounded the corner and Harry took his hand. 

“Let’s walk, yeah?”

Draco frowned.

“But...why?”

“Because it’s pleasant. Because that’s what people do, they go for walks.”

Draco huffed and held the broom by his side as the two made their way down the street and out of town.

“People seem to do a lot of strange things.”

Harry just shook his head, and they head toward the castle looming far in the distance. 

.

By the time the boys arrive, the sun has slipped downward in the heavens and little ivory flakes drift down from above. Draco shivered under his own jacket and Harry’s old Burberry scarf wrapped tightly round his neck. Draco offered to replace it on multiple occasions, but he’d refused. It had been his mother’s. He didn’t like to talk about it. Draco did, though, insist on using a reweaving spell to fix the moth holes. 

The fjord glittered as it greedily ate up the snow that coated everyone’s shoulders like frozen dandruff. 

_Ew, that’s gross. Why do I think these things,_ Harry thought, wrinkling his nose. 

They were still walking hand-in-hand when the large oaken doors opened just wide enough to admit them, and the boys headed up to the Gryffindor common room. 

They’d been reading for a few hours and Draco had successfully conquered his urgent need to vomit up his porcine sins when Hermione and Ron walked in, their loud voices a harsh contrast to the peaceful crackling of the fire and the flutter of turning pages that the boys had grown accustomed to. 

“Blimey, will you two quiet down?” Harry grumbled from his perch in the large wingback, looking through the glasses down his nose and scrunching his eyes. 

“Right, sorry gramps.” 

He clicked his tongue and Hermione giggled and slunk to the kitchenette. 

“I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Er-can you make the Kenilworth?” Ron asked. 

“Apricot?” Harry called. 

When the tea did come round, it was accompanied by a platter of red and gold iced biscuits and turned out to be neither apricot nor kenilworth. 

“Ginger.”

“Mioneeee,” Ron whined. 

“Then don’t drink it,” she quipped simply. 

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry supplied and she nodded, then smacked Ron’s free arm. 

Draco tried to ignore them both, focusing instead on the steady burn of the fireplace screen mesh on the back of his hand. The flames were weakening as the Everburn incantation that kept it running needed to be recast. Hermione filled a cup and put a biscuit on the side of the saucer, knowing full well it wouldn’t be eaten, hoping nonetheless. She walked up and made sure she stepped on that one creaky floorboard so as not to startle the wizard in front of the hearth. “ _Flamelius,”_ she murmured, and the flames roared back to life The already searing heat in Draco’s hand worsened. With a great deal of self control he resisted the urge to pull back his hand, and it was going great until Hermione snatched it away for him. He just stared at the coals that had fallen underneath the andiron. 

“Bloody hell, Draco…” she whispered, and he snatched his hand from her gentle grasp. She pressed her mouth in a thin line. “Fine. But drink the tea. Eat the bloody biscuit.”

Her demeanour seemed...not quite angry. 

_Almost, though._

Draco could hear her whisper something to Potter and it struck him how you can hardly notice normal conversation, but when people start whispering, it ironically draws more attention. There was a strange sensation in his hand. He looked down and saw that his mangled skin was mangled no more, and Harry looks the slightest bit more drained than he did a second ago. An even stranger sensation bloomed as Draco felt Harry’s soft lips like cushions on his worn tendons. 

“Don’t do this,” is all he said and the wizard’s eyes followed him back to the sofa, where jovial conversation waited an awkward minute to begin. 

When he looked back down at the pale skin that stretched across his skeletal hand, he saw that capillaries had arranged themselves in the shape of a flower. 

“Damn you, and your wandless magic, Potter…” he whispered to himself, and let the ginger tea soothe his throat and chase down the bile that kept rising in threat. 

He wasn’t quite sure he was only talking about the flower when he said that.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Not your fault, but sometimes it is

The tea was long gone and so were the biscuits, thanks to Ron. 

_Honestly, it’s a wonder he doesn’t look like Dudley._

Draco tried to run off to his room but the thought of the sad, miserable looking wizard scampering off to his sad, miserable room to sleep in the dark…Harry couldn’t bear it, so he let Draco run off to wash up for the night and turned back to the Gryffindors in front of him. 

“Hey you guys, uh...I’ve been trying to give you space so you guys can sleep in me and Ron’s room but umm...I don’t really know how to say this without sounding like a jerk-I mean, I know I’m not being a jerk, I just-“

Hermione threw a sugar lump at him from the pot. “Shut up. It’s fine, Ron can bunk with me.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. 

“I think there’s an extra year-seven room on the girls’ side.”

 _Draco,_ he thought, not wanting to leave him alone for too long. 

“Right, well, let me go and fetch him...thank you so much you guys, I-“

Ron waved a hand at him. 

“It’s _our_ room Harry, and you can kick me out any time you two want to...y’know.”

He blushed. 

“Oh, no-no, that’s not why, I just…” 

Ron looked at him like _oh come on mate, you two guys are totally gonna bone._

“I just don’t want to leave him to his own devices right now.”

Hermione looked understanding and the stupid grin on Ron’s face fell. The only evidence he’d seen of how truly broken Malfoy was the little episode with the fireplace screen, but he seemed to know that there was more.

Harry carried the platter and his cup and put them in the kitchen sink; it was year three’s turn this week to take care of the kitchen. Switching his loafers out for the slippers Mrs. Weasley made, he set off to find the troublesome guy he’d come to adore. 

.

They pounded at his door. 

“Oh fuck off already!” He shouted, and it only got louder. It was worse now. Before he’d be attacked by the younger students, who heard of the loathsome death eater in the building via their parents and thought it honourable to teach him a lesson. That was acceptable, in his eyes. It made sense. 

_But now…_

Everyone was after him. All of them. None of them had the wherewithal to get away with killing him, though, and the only injuries he sustained were from either overconfident youngsters or hateful eighth years who weren’t sure what was worse-that he’d crossed a line and become a criminal, a murderer, or that he was fucking Harry. The antithesis of all things-well, all things Malfoy. 

He tore bony fingers through his locks because it was too loud, far too loud in his head. 

But it was the wrong pain and not nearly enough. 

_I can’t risk it, he’ll find out. He’ll probably be here soon enough…_

He tapped a rhythm on his kneecap and stood, far too quickly. Grabbing hold of the bedpost for balance, he made a decision. 

_It’s alright. I am a Malfoy. I am the only one left. I am strong. I have control._

He stumbled to the bathroom, shedding clothing as he went until he shut the door behind him, breathing heavily and having done nothing.

He reached for his wand and remembered that he’d left his overcoat in the Gryffindor tower. 

“Fuck!” 

Draco opened the cabinet, searching for the shaving razor his mother had bought him. 

_“I know you can use your wand,”_ she’d said. _“But for sentiment. And, should you ever misplace it, at least you can look tidy.”_

He smiled sadly at the blade. It was one of those old-fashioned ones, and it had his name and date of birth etched in the side. Obviously more of a token of a transition into manhood than anything. He found himself laughing-actually laughing, heartily, at the irony of it all. Here he was, devolving into a blubbering child…

The blade was in his flesh and the breath left his lungs. It stung, burned, until he forced himself to enjoy it, rolling his head back on a limp neck. His bloodied arm reached for the knob to the shower and he turned it, swaying dangerously when he stepped onto the cobbled stone floor and let the spray coat him. 

_This must be how muggles cut…_

More blood spilled over the floor and down his skin and Draco bit back a scream when hot water ran into his wounds. But the guilt persisted and so did he, digging deeper, fearless, throwing caution to the wind. He was having the time of his life, and it sickened him. A loud knocking sound threw him off balance, and he slipped on the stones, landing heavily. 

_Shit…_

“Draco? You alright in there?”

He peeled himself from the floor, grimacing at the new blood. 

_Uh-oh._

The razorblade was on the ground and somehow, he’d managed to slash his stomach. 

“Draco? You need me to come in, mate?”

He lifted a hand to the cut and looked at the blood, _too much blood._ Not breaking eye contact, he shouted in the direction of the door. 

“Er-yeah, no, I’m fine. Just dropped the soap.”

A beat. 

“Right...well, I was thinking…” 

_Oh god, he’s gonna stand outside my door talking until I come out, isn’t he?_

The pale wizard bit down hard on his shredded lower lip and used the sprayer to clean all the cuts off as best he could. He stumbled out and grabbed a washcloth from the cupboard, hissing as the fibres stuck. The one on his stomach just kept gushing. 

“Anyway, I thought it’d be a good idea to sleep in my room tonight. I just...nothing against Slytherin, you guys are great but it’s so...gloomy. And you are too. Are you alright in there?”

Draco swore under his breath. 

_I need my wand…_

“Potter, can I borrow your wand?”

“I left it upstairs, sorry. What for?”

“It’s fine, nevermind.”

_Fuckfuckfuckityfuck_

He wrapped a towel around his waist, then took the biggest one he could find and draped it over his shoulders. Luckily, if he fanned it out, it covered up most of the damage. 

_Here goes…_

He took a breath and opened the door, finding Harry sitting against the wall. 

The boy looked over his features and Draco quickly recognised that stupid look on his face as concern. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? You look pale.”

“I’m always pale.”

“Yeah, but this is more than usual.”

Harry slid gracefully up to his feet and held a hand to Draco’s forehead. 

“Are you ill? I don’t think you’ve got a fever…”

Swaying slightly on knobby knees, he batted the hand away and somehow managed the three feet to his closet without passing out. He tilted his head, hearing Harry sit back down against the wall. 

“Erm...can I have some privacy?”

“Draco, we’ve seen each other naked already, you’re fine.” He laughs. 

Draco just fakes a chuckle. 

“Right…”

He lifted the towel and grimaced at the gash, still seeping rivulets. 

Draco rifled through his drawers and tied a few socks together, then wrapped them tightly around his waist. He climbed into a pair of joggers and a long sleeved shirt, throwing a big wool sweater over it for good measure. Harry eyed him a little suspiciously once he emerged, but walked back to the red and gold common room without complaint. The fat lady in the painting glowered at Draco. The minute he crossed the threshold, he felt...wrong. It was hard to explain, but hairs stood up on his neck and rubbed uncomfortably against the fabric of his henley. The place smelled like food, like people, like...humanity, but not in the weird way. It smelled orange. Stepping into the Slytherin building smelled of nothing but drywall and a hint of bitter licorice. This place, though…he wasn’t sure whether he loved or hated it. It was like the difference between coming into someone’s home, and taking a tour through one of those model houses. Harry sat on his bed and started writing his potions essay on a mangled piece of parchment. It was warm in the room, and Draco slipped his heavy wool sweater onto an empty bed, his bare feet cushioned by the carpeted floor. 

_Another thing we don’t have._

“Hey, erm...Harry, have you seen my coat? It wasn’t on the couch downstairs…”

His head snapped up. 

“Right, yes. Hermione yelled at me for making a mess, so I put it in my closet.”

The tiniest amount of guilt stabbed at Draco’s chest, and he took the coat from Harry gratefully. 

“Thanks.”

“It’s not… _Merlin…”_ Harry breathed, while Draco was still going through his pockets for the wand. A calloused hand on his wrist stopped him. 

“Draco...we talked about this.”

“Wha-oh.” 

He looked down and saw blood seeping through the waffley fabric of his shirt. 

“Fuck…”

The brunette took him by the shoulders and sat him down on his bed, picking his wand up from the nightstand. 

“Can you lift up your shirt for me?” He asked, voice even and calm. 

_Oh god._

“I-I don’t-“

Fear fluttered about in Harry’s stomach because Draco _never_ stuttered. 

“It’s alright, I just want to help you.”

He nodded numbly and slid the stained shirt over his back, leaving it in his lap with his gaze, unmoving. Harry gasped audibly. The makeshift sock-bandage had already slid down, allowing the wound to bleed freely. 

“Jesus Draco, that’s-“

“An accident. It was an accident,” He said. 

“How?”

“I-I was in the shower, and I-“

 _You startled me,_ he thought, but _no, he’ll feel guilty._

“I slipped.”

Harry nodded, then let his fingertips ghost over the marred skin to hover above the countless other scratches, most of them shallow but at least five of them would’ve gotten stitches, had this been the muggle world. 

“And those? Were those an accident?” 

His tone is mildly biting, but Draco feels it. 

“No.” He says plainly. 

Harry just sighs and starts healing up the wounds. The injured wizard feels a strange tingling, an itching sensation when he gets to the big one, yet he remains perfectly still. Harry muttered a cleaning spell and Draco shimmied back into the grey Henley, using his own wand to vanish the bloodied socks. 

Harry just stood in front of him, staring. A single, silvery tear slipped down his cheek. Draco’s response was immediate, and he cupped a hand to it, wiping the tear away. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

Harry sniffled and pressed the heels of his hands into his sockets, sniffled, and regained his composure remarkably quickly. Too quickly for comfort. 

“I’m fine. Just shaken up. Feel like it’s my fault.”

“How could you say that? Harry, I did this. I knew what I was doing. It’s my own problem, and you needn’t have any part in it. You can always back out, if it’s too m-“

“Are you _mad_?”

Draco frowned. 

_Yeah mate, I’m fuckin’ bonkers_

_But I’m too much for him, right? For anyone?_

“Well, probably, but I thought-I just didn’t want you to feel like you have to stay with me. Because you feel bad.”

Harry just sighed and sat down cross-legged on the bed, facing him. 

“No, I don’t feel bad.”

Draco tilted his head, thinking. Willing the voices to shut up with their choruses of _See? I told you so, he hates you!_.

“I don’t feel bad that you’ve done...that you do these things to yourself. I didn’t make you do it, I’m trying as hard as humanly possible to _not_ be the reason you do it. I try to make sure you feel like you don’t have to. Feeling guilty would be pointless. But I do feel bad that I wasn’t there for you before like I am now.” 

He met his eyes at that. 

“And I won’t stop trying. Because I’m right, I know I am. You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do! I-I’ve done so much to so many, and you-what are you doing?” 

Harry’s hopped off the bed and is ruffling through a drawer of Ron’s chest, coming back with a long piece of parchment from his own. He lays it flat on the lapdesk that sits next to his pillow and holds a muggle ballpoint pen, waiting, hovering above the page. 

“Right, so...what’ve you done.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you feel guilty about. What have you done. What are all the mistakes, the people you’ve killed.”

Draco furrows his brow. 

“Well-I became a death eater.”

“Right, okay.”

“I killed my mother.”

“You didn’t-“

Draco glared at him. 

“I was the reason she died.”

“Fine.” 

Draco rattled off all the horrible things he’d done, all the reasons he hated himself and Harry just continued scribbling, handwriting growing messier and messier until Draco ran out of mistakes. 

“Is that it?”

“Yeah.”

The young wizard shook out his cramped hand, and Draco mentally added that to the list. 

They both look at the memories scrawled out in Harry’s messy shorthand. 

“That’s actually not a very long list,” he points out. 

“Doesn’t make it any worse.”

Okay. So. The first one...erm, becoming a death eater.”

Harry turned on his phone and opened up voice memos, setting it next to them on the bed and looking up at Draco. It has the air of an interview. 

“Yes. I joined the most dangerous, murderous cult in Europe and then I-“

“Ah ah ah, one at a time. So tell me, Draco, what could you have done?”

“What?”

“What could you have done. To escape becoming a death eater.”

“Well, I could’ve run. Could’ve killed myself. Could’ve killed... _him.”_

“Okay. Well, how old were you when you became a death eater?”

“Sixteen,” Draco murmurs. 

“If you were a muggle, that’d be illegal. And your father would be in jail.”

The wizard smirked, holding back his hatred for muggles and for the briefest second, reconsidering it. 

“Well, we aren’t. And he isn’t.”

Harry just sighs.

“Your parents pressured you into joining a terrorist organisation. And in the end, when it mattered, you left, knowing full well that it put your life in danger. And, icing on the cake, you helped bring them down. Anyone would say that’s redemption enough.”

“I’m not sure what the point of this is,” Draco muttered. 

“You’ll see.”

“I doubt that.”

They continued for another hour, going through all of his regrets. Every time, Harry successfully managed to prove that either it wasn’t actually Draco’s fault, that his oppressive and abusive upbringing made him mentally incapable of making any other decision, and a few times, it was his fault. One hundred percent. He’d left a student to die under the rubble, just ran for his life. He murdered someone’s pet toad. But every time, he reluctantly agreed.

“Are we done yet?”

“Last one.”

“Oh thank heavens.”

Harry gave a crinkly smile. 

“Bullying me,” he read. The two words were all the way at the bottom of the page, all messy and crammed in like they held no value. And they didn’t, not anymore. 

Draco felt like he was going to be sick. 

“Nope. I have not repaid you yet. No redemption, I don’t care if you forgive me or not, I’m still guilty as hell, I fucked up, I-“

A hand clamped over his mouth. 

“Since when do you get to decide when you’ve made it up to me?”

The hand left, and yet he remained silent. 

“You have, Draco, a hundred times over. You betrayed me, you were an arse when we were kids but you know what? You’ve suffered a hundred times what I have. I was a martyr, of sorts. I…” 

Harry chuckled sadly, tracing patterns on the silken sheets. 

“They call me a hero, and I believed them. I believed all of it, that I was meant to save the world, that I was _important,_ but...whenever we duelled, it was never for _the world._ I mean, my parents were dead, my friends were on the cusp of it-what did I have to lose?”

He shook his head. 

“No, you’re...the golden boy, you’re…”

He took his hand gently. 

“Draco. I fought to save my own skin. I didn’t give a rat’s ass whether Snape lived. Or you. Or anyone else in this blasted school, aside from Ron and Hermione. And I failed to protect them, too. So what I’m trying to say is...I’m not some saint you have to repent to. I know that’s terribly presumptious of me, but...you know what I mean. I’m just as bad as you, only more cowardly. Don’t forget, you offered me your hand at the beginning of all this. I turned you down.” 

Draco didn’t bother arguing. 

“But I hurt you,” he whispered.

“And I hurt you worse.”

He just stared at the sheets, _I won’t cry, I won’t cry, I won’t cry._

He fucking sobbed.

“C’mere,” He said warmly, and engulfed him in a hug. The wizard curled into him like a cat and when Harry said it would be okay-that’s when he broke. Loud and ugly cries racked his body and ed their way out of his throat and Harry was there through it all. Eventually, he felt his eyelids getting heavier and expected to be dropped on the mattress as soon as Harry thought he was asleep but he stayed. 

He stayed. 

.

His body ached, and he realised it was because he’d been sitting awkwardly against the headboard all night. Draco was still in his arms and he slowly slipped out of his grasp. His slid his slippers and dressing gown on, then shut the door quietly and tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen, where he stared into the pantry for a good six minutes before realising he had no idea what he was doing, and should probably consult the internet. He did, and started looking for ingredients when Hermione’s voice startled him. 

“Morning Harry.”

He banged his head loudly on the doorframe of the small cupboard and held his forehead as he emerged. She cringed. 

“Sorry…”

“It’s alright. Uh...morning. You guy sleep okay?”

She grins. 

“More than okay.”

Harry blushes. 

“Wow. Okay. That’s uh...good for you guys.”

“Don’t be such a child, Harry,” she teased. 

Harry just shrugged and surveyed the ingredients. 

“Do we have eggs?”

“What?”

“Eggs, have we got any?”

“Depends on what you’re making.”

“Why would it depe-pancakes, I’m making pancakes. Or trying to, at least.”

“Watch and learn.”

She walked around the counter and muttered a spell, checking a little notebook that apparently sat inside one of the drawers. 

“it’s _ello_ , not _erro_ …” 

Soon enough, she’d gotten all the dry ingredients from the pantry swirling through the air and into a bowl, mixing themselves. She took a handful of walnuts and transfigured them into eggs and milk.

“Right, I didn’t think of that…”

Hermione just smiled. 

“Wait why can’t you just transfigure the walnuts into pancakes?”

She frowned at him. 

“Never works out. You do know what happens when you transfigure food, right?”

He shook his head. 

“Never tried it.”

“Well, it’s always sour, and it doesn’t always change completely. Ron once tried to turn a rock he found outside into an iced bun, but...well, that’s how he chipped his tooth.”

Harry grinned wildly. 

“You mean-his left canine?”

“Yeah, the one that looks all weird?”

“Oh my-he told me it happened when he took on a troll in the dark forest one night, when he and you had gone to collect bark for a potion. He said you were attacked by some...creature. Said he got it protecting you.”

Hermione burst out laughing. 

“Some creature?”

Ron thumped loudly down the stairs and sauntered in. 

“Morning. What are you all laughing about?”

She hung her arms about his shoulders and pecked him on the lips, then again, but longer.

“You, you knob.”

He grinned.

Harry cleared his throat. 

“Erm-I’m gonna go retrieve Draco, but thanks for helping me with the pancakes.”

She winked, and Harry can hear her trying to protect the food from Ron. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. He Tried Again, Didn’t He?

He was relieved to find Draco still fast asleep, and he took a moment to admire him before sitting down next to him and gently jostling his shoulder. 

“Hey, Draco? Breakfast is ready.”

He remained asleep and Harry smothered the flare of worry that sparked. 

“Draco?”

The boy opened his eyes barely, then shut them. 

“No, nonono…”

“It’s alright, you’re-“

“Please don’t hurt her, _please_ -“

“Draco! It’s Harry. Look at me, please-you’re alright.”

His eyes cracked open slightly, still cringing away from whatever terror lay behind his eyelids. 

“Harry?” He croaked, and Harry’s heart just about shattered. 

“Morning, handsome.”

He smiled weakly.

“Come downstairs, there’s breakfast.”

“I’m alright, thanks.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

He stood and threw Draco’s jumper at him. 

“C’mon.”

The wizard groaned loudly, and stiffly swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming…”

He wiped sand from his eyes and followed Harry down to the breakfast bar, where Hermione pushed two plates of pancakes toward the stools and gestured for the both of them to sit. He thanked her and she just nodded, headed off to the couch to sit with Ron, who was eating-

_Blimey, is that six pancakes? Looks like it…_

“Coffee?”

Draco’s head snapped back to where Harry was pouring coffee from a carafe. 

“Uh-sure.”

“Cream or sugar?”

“What is it they say? ‘I like my coffee as dark as my soul?”

Harry smirked. 

“Got it.”

A few seconds later, he poured him a glass of milk and held it up.

“Might be a little too dark, but…”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

Harry just grinned and handed him a mug of coffee instead, then struggled to pour the glass back in the container, resulting in milk all over his pants and the floor. He ended up just dumping it out. Harry wiped everything down and sat on the stool next to Draco with a huff. 

“Was it worth it?”

“Shut up Malfoy,” he said, grinning. 

The pale wizard sipped his coffee thoughtfully, letting the bitter taste engulf him. The steady scraping noise of Harry’s silverware stopped and he looked over. 

“Why aren’t you eating?”

He just shrugged. 

“Why aren’t _you_ eating?”

Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“Just-I’ll eat in a minute, okay?”

“Me too.”

He grumbled under his breath and took a bite of the syrupy cakes. 

_Merlin, that’s delicious_

Harry followed, and once Draco had swallowed and chased it down with more coffee, he did nothing else. 

“Harry just eat the bloody pancakes.”

“I can’t, not unless you do too.”

They squabbled a bit, growing louder in volume. 

“No, I am _sick_ and tired of you doing this Draco! You’re not-you’re not only impacting yourself!”

“And it’s none of your business what I put in my body! I never asked you to care!”

“Boys!”

Hermione shouted.

“If you’re gonna have a domestic, take it outside.”

“We’re not-“

“Having a domestic,” they both said. 

“But Harry’s being an arse!”

Eventually though, Draco caved and _very_ angrily ate a pancake and a half. 

“I hate you Potter.” He growled into his coffee mug. 

“Love you too, Malfoy.”

Harry took both of their dishes and left them in the sink, where they were magically washed. 

.

Three hours later, they found themselves under a tree by the water. Draco was studying for Arithmancy with Harry’s head in his lap. His eyes drooped lazily. 

Not seven minutes later, he slipped away mid-sentence, and Draco watched him over the frames of his sunglasses. 

_So peaceful…_

It was bright out. The phone in Harry’s pocket buzzed, emitting a dreadful noise. By some miracle, he didn’t wake up. The blonde sighed and reached into his pocket to retrieve the device. It vibrated in his hand, curious and smooth. There were two buttons, green and red, under a name. The name was _Dudley._

He gulped, and pressed the green one. 

“Hey Harry. You got what I asked for?”

_The fuck?_

“Erm-yes, yes I’ve got it.”

There’s silence, and Draco panicked for a moment.

“You sound different.”

_Shit_

“And you sound just as stupid as usual.”

There’s a quiet laugh.

“That’s one strike, Harry. Two more and I break your little birdy’s neck. You remember what happened last week.”

He hung up.

_It’s alright, one more strike. He won’t get what he wants if…_

Draco suddenly realised that he had a lot of questions. 

He considered waking Harry up and asking him, then thought better. 

_What happened last week…_

“Finite,” he whispered, his wand ghosting over Harry’s warm skin. He nearly choked at what he saw. 

Bruises, in varying stages of healing peppered his skin, his long, lithe arms under his short-sleeved shirt and through the holes in his distressed jeans. Draco blinked back tears and a burning lump in his throat and recast the glamour. 

_Might as well let him keep the idea of dignity…_

“Harry?”

“Mmm?” 

“I erm...I saw. I saw the bruises. Harry...why didn’t you tell me?”

The brunette’s eyes widened. 

“You what?!”

“I-“

“You removed my glamour didn’t you. Why would you-that is a _massive_ violation of privacy!”

Draco just raised an eyebrow, remaining frustratingly calm. 

“To be fair, you did it to me first. And then you took all my blades. And now, you refuse to leave me alone for prolonged periods of-“

“That’s different! That is-no, that’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, yes it is! Because _you_ are the one doing the damage! I’m not beating myself up!”

“Then who is!?” Draco shouted, finally raising his voice. He tried not to notice how Harry flinched. The boy’s eyes dropped to the ground and a nearby rock the size of a cat cracked in half, the stress visibly leaving Harry’s body. It wasn’t nearly enough, though. 

“Who is it, Harry? Who did that to you?”

“I-“

“Was it Dudley?”

“How did you know that?”

“He called. While you were sleeping.”

“Did you answer?”

“Yes-but I didn’t mean to!”

Harry narrowed his eyes. 

“Which button did you press?”

“The...green one?”

“Why would you press the green one! Obviously it’s going to-“

“I like green, okay?”

He closed his eyes and chewed on his lips. 

“Let me get this straight. You saw _two_ buttons on a device you don’t know how to use, and instead of waking me up, or, better yet, just ignoring the damn thing, you chose one because it was your favourite colour?”

“Not-my favourite colour’s purple, but-look, I don’t know, okay? How about why the fuck are you talking to him anyway?”

“It’s none of your bloody business!”

“Hedwig. He’s got Hedwig, hasn’t he?”

Harry gulped and his right hand shook as he sat down again, putting his tremorring hand to use by knotting up grass. 

“He took her. I’d sent her home to deliver a letter to Aunt Petunia and I _talked_ to her about it, I said ‘Wiggy, remember, just drop it in front of the door, do _not_ go inside. This isn’t Hogwarts. You can’t just go flying through the house.’ But she didn’t listen. She didn’t fucking listen, and apparently she got in when the door was open and Dudley grabbed her and- _oh god…”_

He started crying now, feeling like a helpless child again. Draco held him and they stayed there, but the contemplative look on his face remained. 

“You alright, otherwise?” The slytherin asked.

“No, I’ve just been thinking. About when I found you in the Room of Requirement.”

Draco sucked in a breath, but soldiered on. 

“And? What about it.”

“Well...what if I hadn’t? Did you even have a plan? I mean, you could’ve died, and you put that all on a hunch that I might be in the room.”

It occurred to Draco that he was supposed to be feeling something, perhaps the gravity of the situation. But no...nothing. He just shrugged. 

“Well, I’m not usually wrong. I knew you were there, beyond a doubt. But if I had been wrong, well…”

He tossed a rock into the river, watching it splash and for a split second, imagining it was his body. 

“I guess I would’ve died. And I’d have been okay with that.”

“W-so it was a suicide attempt? But like, halfway?”

Draco look down at their feet. 

“No, no. But if I did end up bleeding out, it would’ve been a erm...what does that man call it? The painter?”

Harry shook a little. Draco’s nonchalance regarding the situation was...unsettling to say the least. 

“A happy little accident?” He croaked. 

“Yes! That.” The slytherin grinned obliviously and threw another rock into the river, and Harry thought that maybe his stomach churned even more than the water did. 

.

“I’ve just received an owl from Roache.”

Harry groaned as the curtains were thrown open and buried his face in Draco’s silken pillows. He was more frustrated at the fact that there was no light coming through the window-the sun hadn’t even begun to rise. And here he was, conscious. 

“Who’s-“

“Our house elf.”

His face darkened. 

“Well, I suppose he’s mine, now…”

And just as fast it was gone, and he grinned at Harry like Bruce from Finding Nemo.

Harry turned his head the minimum amount necessary to breathe. And to whinge at Draco. (They were both equally as important). 

“Okay? What happened?”

The pale wizard stopped his pacing just to sit in the elegant caned chair that was skewed away from his desk, bouncing his leg and rubbing a twitching finger over his cleanly-shaven jaw. 

_God, that jawline…_ Harry blinked the thought away, earning a curious look from Draco that was about as fleeting as his gaze as it darted around the room like a trapped starling. 

“Nothing. Nothing at all. But apparently, he can’t get a hold of my parents-for obvious reasons-and so he wants to know what the hell’s going on. 

“Understandable,” Harry nodded, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and dangling his legs over the edge of the high bed. There was no way he’d be going back to sleep.

“So what did you tell him?”

“I said I’d floo over this morning.”

The brunette fumbled for his glasses and shoved them onto his face, cracked his back and hopped onto bony feet. 

“Right, I’m coming with you.”

He pretended not to see the way Draco seemed visibly relieved. 

“Why?”

His tone still bit, though. 

_He’s just being defensive._

“Er-because you’re acting like you’re on heroin. It’s quarter-to-five in the morning and you’re fully dressed. You usually wake up at half-past.”

Draco just rubbed his inner elbow and looked at Harry in mock surprise.

“How did you _know?”_

Harry smirked and headed for the door, followed by Draco who promptly locked it behind them. The brunette chose to walk to Gryffindor tower, hoping it might help to calm his boyfriend’s nerves. 

The two crept through the portrait hole, past a disapproving looking Fat Lady with whom Harry had a brief row, ending in him threatening to tell Filch that she’d been sneaking off when she wasn’t needed to have tea with Lord Berwick who lived in a portrait down the West Corridor.

The boys had assumed nobody was up yet, but they found Hermione-and _of course it would be Hermione, wouldn’t it?-_ sipping tea and poring over an enormous book. 

“Someone’s on the walk of shame…” She teased, but seemed surprised at Draco’s perfectly groomed form in the doorway when she looked up. 

“Draco.”

“Granger.”

She rolled her eyes, and Draco found himself frustrated with her lack of anger. He softened. 

“Good morning, Hermione.” he said. 

Harry just groaned something about _too bloody early for this_ and stomped up the stairs. The slytherin took the seat across from Hermione and tried his best to look like he belonged.

The door shut firmly upstairs and Draco felt something smooth and cold against his skin, looking down to see a gilded cup of tea on a saucer. He glanced up, and Hermione had never once broken eye contact with her tome. 

“Erm-thank you.”

“Welcome.” 

He sipped his brew in peace and watched as the girl’s eyes skimmed across the page impossibly fast, then nearly spilled it when she snapped the book shut briskly-though not angrily-and leaned back in her chair with her legs drawn up to her chest. 

“So where are you taking him?”

 _Not “where are you off to? or What are your plans on this fine day?” but “Where are you taking the precious Golden Boy?”_ Draco mused. 

“Erm-to my house-“

“Why?”

“To check on things? Nobody’s been living there except the help.”

”What about your parents?”

”They died. Voldemort.”

Hermione nodded slowly. 

”I’m so sorry.”

He felt the odd urge to laugh. 

“Take care of him. And yourself. Especially yourself.”

Draco put his tea down and threw his hands in the air dramatically. 

“Why does everybody keep thinking something’s wrong?”

A corner of her mouth quirked up.

“Because you’re alarmingly skilled at feeding people little white lies, but you never manage to hide the overall...atmosphere, of something being not quite right in the world of Draco Malfoy.”

He smirked. 

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes you are. You’re nervous about going home, aren’t you?”

The pale wizard felt his stomach drop.

“Why would I be nervous about going home?”

She sat up in her chair and poured herself more tea.

“I don’t know, but you are.”

Draco just shook his head like _yeah, sure, you’ve no clue what you’re talking about_ but he was absolutely terrified that someone he knew so poorly could read him with such ease. 

Harry emerged from his room in jeans, a polo and a fleece, thundering down the stairs and walking up to give Hermione a hug. She whispered something in his ear, and Draco narrowed his eyes. 

The two crept down to the Room of Requirement, the only room with a fireplace in the school-apart from the teachers’-that didn’t have flooing restrictions. Pulling a small pouch of the powder from his satchel, Draco sprinkled it over them and said the words, and off they were whisked to the Malfoy Manor. 

. 

To say he was impressed would be the understatement of the millenia. Harry’s jaw _actually dropped-_ rather comically-as he stepped out into the vast foyer of the Malfoy household. The ceiling looked as if it really were soaring, painted like an old cathedral with subjects that moved and there was intricate dark green marble everywhere. It battled with the warm, glowy light that seemed to come from nowhere. Harry looked to Draco, who was entirely unfazed and instead annoyedly brushed some soot from his shoulder and sauntered underneath the left side of the grand staircase into a sitting room that was…

“Holy fuck.”

Draco chuckled, ashamed that he was enjoying Potter’s admiration just a little bit, even if he couldn’t at all take credit for the place. He knew it was a magnificent home, but all he could think was _remember when father beat you with his walking stick in that corner over there?_

“Roache? We’re home!” 

He shouted, and a stocky house elf seemed to materialise in the doorway. 

_Wait no, he actually materialised._

The elf bowed before Draco who was reclined in the couch, and who also batted a hand at him. 

“Stop, Roache, you’re fine. Have a seat. And a biscuit.”

Harry sat down next to Draco and watched the elf cautiously snatch a biscuit from the platter on the coffee table between them and plop unceremoniously onto an overstuffed wingback with surprising nonchalance. 

“Sorry Dray,” he said. “I just thought-I mean, you brought company, so-by the way, I’m Roache, nice to meet you.” 

Harry smiled. 

“Pleasure to meet you too. I’m…” He looked to Draco like _should he know?_ and Draco shot him a look that said _are you kidding me? He’s cool,_ so he proceeded.

“I’m Harry.”

Roache nodded. 

“So Draco, what the hell is going on? Where are your parents? Why haven’t they been back? I mean, not that I’m complaining, you know how your father is, but is everything alright?”

The wizard stiffened at the mention of Lucius, but just cleared his throat and swirled his fingertips in the velvet of the couch. 

“Well, erm...they’re both dead.” 

The elf didn’t miss a beat, and had his arms around Draco’s shoulders in seconds. 

“I’m so sorry, Dray.”

Tears pricked at the backs of Draco’s eyes and he swallowed the lump in his throat painfully. 

Roache pulled away and returned to his chair, looking rather morose himself. 

“I’m sorry to ask-to...dredge it all up again, but…”

His large hazel eyes met Draco’s and the emotion in them was practically heart-wrenching. 

“Did she suffer?”

Draco gulped and his hand on the arm of the sofa grew more active and he started tearing embellishments off nervously, and without thinking, Harry took his other hand and grasped it gently. Roache noticed, but said nothing. 

“A great deal.”

Roache shuddered. 

“Who was it.”

“You know you can’t-“

“Who was it, Draco?”

And Harry had never, in all his years seen a house elf raise their voice at their master. It was jarring, but a pleasant display of equality. 

“Bella.”

“How?”

Draco shook, trying to get the words out. 

“You don’t have to tell me if it hurts too much, I-I apologise for snapping.”

“Cruciatus.” He managed to choke out and the elf balled his little fists. 

“That _bitch_ _!”_

The elf’s anger seemed to radiate from him, and the drapes erupted into flames less than four feet away. Harry quickly muttered a spell to put them out. 

Draco was full-on sobbing now, and the gryffindor inched closer apprehensively just to have the troubled wizard practically fling himself at him. He sobbed into his chest, and Roache made eye contact with Harry over Draco’s shoulder, his face unreadable. 

“It’s my fault, Roache it’s my fault…” he cried. 

“Draco, _you_ didn’t curse her. You did nothing wrong.”

“No, it’s my fault, you don’t understand! I should have been _me-_ I can’t-“ he choked and Harry pressed a kiss into his hair, not giving a fuck at this point. 

“She-he-I was there and she-oh god…”

“Do you want me to tell him?” Harry asked gently, and the nod he felt against his damp chest told him to proceed. 

“He told me that-well, he told me that the curse was aimed at him. But Narcissa took the hit.”

Roache nodded. 

“It should’ve been me…” Draco sobbed. 

“Nonsense. If you’d have died, well...it would have meant that the Malfoy family could never have been saved. This is the way it goes, Draco. The parents will always take the fall.”

Draco just shook his head and wiped his nose and eyes on his sleeve. 

“No, no it’s not. And it was almost for nothing, her sacrifice was…and I _wanted_ it to be for nothing...” he trailed off, and Roache looked dangerously curious. Suspicious. Concerned. 

“What do you mean, Draco?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing...I’m nothing…” he mouthed the last part but they both knew.

The talk continued and eventually Draco deemed himself no longer too weepy to speak. His idea was to let the house rot, to buy Roache some clothes and send him off with a few thousand galleons. Roache declined politely, saying that this was his home and he’d like to die here, thank you very much. They’d eventually settled on giving him new clothes anyway and allowing him to leave and do whatever it is house elves do. Roache agreed to live there and take care of the manor.

 _“_ Eventually, I’ll die,” he’d said. “And you two will have children. And those children won’t want to live in whatever it is you’ll be able to afford.” Both of their cheeks had brightened at that. All in all, Roache seemed like the cool uncle who would let you smoke weed but only if you did it together and would always have your back when you did something stupid. Or maybe godfather would be more accurate...

_God, I miss Sirius._

Draco announced that he wanted to leave but Roache insisted he spend the night, to which he agreed reluctantly. Roache said he wanted Harry to stay behind, told Draco he needed to make sure he was good boyfriend material. He watched the blonde’s retreating form and felt a cool puddle of fear gathering in the pit of his stomach. 

“He tried again, didn’t he.” Roache said sadly. 

“What?”

“To kill himself, I mean. Didn’t he?”

Harry almost choked on the bluntness. 

“Erm-yeah. Sort of.”

“What does that mean?”

“I-well, to be frank, I don’t know if it’s my place…”

The elf waved a hand at him. 

“Please. I raised that boy. It’s my business.”

Harry hesitated, but told him anyway. The puddle did not shrink one bit. 

“He was in a hidden room, and he used a curse called sectum...erm, sempra,” Harry murmured cautiously, not knowing the extent of his wandless magic. Most wizards and witches would need their wands to use something as powerful as a curse, but he didn’t want to risk hurting Roache. Or himself. .

“ ‘ve never heard of that one,” Roache said. 

“Yeah, it’s sort of new…” he scratched at his neck. “Creates these huge lacerations on a person’s body, and severe hemorrhaging…”

Harry gulped. 

“Potter, tell me there was someone else in that room with him. Tell me he hurt someone else.”

 _How did he know my last name?_ Harry thought, noting that his hair was covering his scar, but he brushed it aside. 

“He was alone.”

Roache sighed at his hands. 

“I thought he was done with all that…” he murmured sadly. 

“What?”

“Nothing. How bad has he gotten?”

The wizard felt increasingly uncomfortable. 

_I’m gossiping about Draco to his own house elf, on his couch, eating his sweets-in his own bloody mansion!_

“I-bad, I think.”

“Facts, Harry.”

“Right. Well, he hasn’t been eating. Nightmares. And he’s been...well he’s been…”

_Why can’t I say it?_

“Hurting himself?” Roache offered helpfully. Harry just nodded. 

The elf cupped his chin. 

“Thank god his father isn’t around for this. He’d have...it wouldn’t have been good. The man was worse than you remember. Poor Dray could never catch a break.”

“What do you mean?”

Roache put his tea down and hopped to the floor from his chair. 

“That’s for him to tell you. I’d go and check on him, if I were you.”

And with that, the elf was gone and Harry felt more confused and emptier than ever. 

He stood up himself and was headed towards the staircase when Roache appeared to his right. 

“Oh, and by the way-y’know, I’d feared he’d hook up with some abusive arshole because-well, daddy issues but you seem relatively tame. However, I swear on my mother’s grave, Harry, if you so much as hurt a single hair on that boy’s head you shall be flayed alive and fed to the gargoyles, understood?”

The wizard nodded, that icy pool in his gut sloshing and churning like the North Sea. 

“Right then. I’m off to bed. Sleep well.”

He disappeared again and a slightly rattled Harry crept up the sprawling staircase to find his partner.

“Draco?” He called, after having paced the long corridors and finding a second sitting room upstairs, almost as big as the other-and _honestly, who needs two sitting rooms?_

“In here,” came a soft voice and he followed it to a door behind him. Malfoy had not one but two rooms, the one he walked into being a small library/office of sorts, with two matching couches that were about half the size of a normal one and the walls lined with books. 

“Draco? You in here?”

He called out again, and wandered into the second room to find the slytherin perched on his bed, munching listlessly on a bar of Honeyduke’s. He looked absolutely miserable. 

“Hey,” Harry said, approaching him as if he were a skittish wild animal. 

“Hi.”

He crossed the room and sat at the foot of the bed, catching a square of chocolate Draco had thrown at him. 

“What did he tell you?” 

The wizard’s tone was scathing. Harry pondered. 

“Well, in a nutshell, he asked me how you were and how bad you had gotten, told me your father was an arse and threatened to skin me and feed me to the gargoyles if I hurt you.”

The pale wizard’s mildly betrayed scowl lessened a bit at the end, and he smirked. 

“Sounds about right. What did you tell him?”

“About how bad you’d gotten?”

He nodded. 

“Well, I tried to dart around it, but…”

_Oh fuck it, just tell the truth._

“He demanded the facts and so I told him.”

The boy’s face blanched. 

“You _what?”_

“I’m sorry, Draco, I know, but he only wants what’s best for you and-to be frank, Roache is bloody terrifying!”

“That isn’t the point, Potter!”

“I was trying to help you!”

“WELL DON’T!”

Draco cried, and the defeat in his eyes made Harry crumple. He promptly stood up and walked around to the other side of the bed, plucked the chocolate from Draco’s grasp and wrapped him in a hug, the pale wizard sobbing into him for the second time that night. 

“I’m afraid, Malfoy, that you don’t have a choice in the matter.”

.

They’d done this before. It wasn’t their first time together and Harry _certainly_ wasn’t a virgin. But he broke. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, and this is so awkward, because now we’re both naked and you’ve got to-well, take care _that-“_ Harry said, gesturing at Draco’s erection and rubbing his hands over his eyes. 

“It’s alright, love,” Draco reassured him. 

“I can’t-I can’t do this, I’m so sorry.” 

“Harry shut up,” he smiled. “If your can’t right now then you can’t. But we are going to talk about this later, alright?”

He ruffled Harry’s unruly mop and stalked off to take care of his little ‘problem’, and the gryffindor clamped his hands over his ears to block out the noise in shame, hastily throwing the pyjamas he’d borrowed back on and burrowing into the covers, dreading the coming conversation. 

Draco emerged looking tired and smelling like soap, and slipped into bed next to him. 

“Harry, we need to talk about this.”

He mumbled something into his arm that sounded like _Idon’wanna_ but Draco just rolled him over to face him. 

“Who did you think I was?”

Draco’s face was pale and sad, and there was a sort of anger that manifested itself in his eyes and the way he furrowed his brow that absolutely terrified Harry, but made him inexplicably proud as well. 

“I didn’t-“

“No, Harry, you did. You did, and you never should have. You thought I was someone else and I think I know who.”

Harry’s tongue froze and he chewed his lip. 

“Was it Vernon?” Draco asked cautiously. 

Harry just nodded. 

“Jesus Harry-why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it mattered. It’s done.”

“Yeah, but it isn’t, is it? You’re still planning on going back, aren’t you.”

Harry huffed and propped himself up on his elbows. 

“It’s not that simple. Of course I’m going back. There’s a bunch of complicated muggle bullshit that comes with being a legal guardian, and I’ve got to save Hedwig.”

Draco frowned. 

“Uh, who cares? They’ll report you missing and go on with their lives. And we can just break in, steal back Hedwig, hex the whole family, curse the house and get out. ”

Harry sighed. 

“I know. But what if I’m seen in public after I’ve gone? What if I’m reported?”

The pale wizard looked at him funny. 

“Have you seriously never run away before?”

Harry shrugged. 

“I mean, there was that one time with the bus, but I’ve always come back.”

He shook his head. 

“Well, that’s going to change. You’re not going back, and that’s final.”

Defiance sparked in his chest but died the minute Draco spoke again. 

“Not after what he did to you. I cannot, in good conscience, allow it. I’ve half a mind to kill him.”

Harry smiled. 

“That won’t be necessary.”

They ended up agreeing that when the Yule Holidays arrived, he’d go home and collect his things and bid them goodbye. 

“They’re horrible, horrible people I know, but they raised me. At the very least, I owe them a goodbye.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Neither Do I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I fucked up. If you read the last chapter (i deleted it) forget about it, I uploaded it too early. Please leave comments!

All Hallow’s Eve had come and gone and now they were sat on the train home with Hermione, Ron, Luna and Blaise. He was trying to get along with the others. Blaise was practically the only Slytherin who didn’t peg Draco for a traitor at present. 

Hermione was passed out with her head against Ron’s shoulder and his jacket over hers. Luna was knitting, for some reason. 

Blaise had taken their relationship surprisingly well, and they’d spent the rest of the train ride watching old Pewdiepie videos. They boys bid the others goodbye and Happy Christmas. Draco had their muggle chauffeur-a kind, mid-forties beanpole named Finchley-drive them to a restaurant in East London that Draco remembered from his childhood. The food was excellent and Harry remarked upon it numerous times, and every time, he got this look from Draco as if he were a five-year old expressing how awesome he thought tea sandwiches were. Draco paid with a muggle credit card that he’d never gotten to use before and they rode to Privet Drive in a comfortable silence. Harry had slipped into a brief food coma on the way there and had almost forgotten where he was going and exactly who he was about to visit.

His stomach churned as Draco told the driver they wouldn’t be long, and he turned his weathered key in the lock. The door opened with a foreboding creak and the boys were met with a tired-looking Aunt Petunia storming out from the kitchen. She clopped toward them an raised an eyebrow at Draco standing slender and serious behind Harry. 

“Harry, what are you doing here? And you know what we’ve said about bringing people over!” She hissed, and it pained Draco to see him visibly wilt. 

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry. But given the circumstances, I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“Excuse me?” 

Harry looked up defiantly and pushed past her to the kitchen. 

“Let’s have a chat, shall we?”

Petunia stared after him, bewildered, and Draco stuck out a hand. 

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Draco Malfoy.”

She just grimaced and shook his hand as quickly as she could before storming after Harry, who she found pouring himself a glass of chocolate milk. 

“You put that down, Harry. That’s Dudley’s milk.”

 _Dudley can go fuck himself,_ Harry thought, but stuck to sipping it quietly, then put the glass down gently on the granite countertop. 

“I’m leaving,” he told her.

“Vernon!” She shrieked, and Draco gripped his wand. 

A flustered, rotund man with reading glasses hooked on his jumper waddled in from a room that was presumably his study having been grumbling something about work. 

“What, Petunia?”

“Harry says he’s leaving.”

The man turned to Harry, who flinched violently. 

“No you’re not.”

He eyed the glass of milk in his hand, and he just continued drinking it as defiantly as possible-which was fairly impressive, considering Draco had never seen anyone drink milk defiantly. He didn’t even know that was a thing you could do. 

“That’s not yours, boy.” Vernon growled. 

“It is _quite_ delicious, though,” Harry remarked.

“You know what happens when you disobey me, Harry. Is that what you want?”

He just grinned, beating down that flicker of abject terror that only Draco saw. Harry gulped down the last of his milk, and, without breaking eye contact, took the carton and poured the rest of the entire thing down the drain. 

Vernon was practically boiling. 

“Petunia, get out.”

“Now, Vernon, I don’t think-“

“I said, get out.” 

She just nodded and wiped her hands on her apron, shooting Harry a sympathetic look but not bothering to stop her husband. The man’s gaze snapped to Draco. 

“And who the hell are you?”

Harry smiled proudly. 

“That’s my boyfriend. His name’s Draco.”

Draco smiled genially and held his hand out for a shake, just to be a prat. 

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you,” he said. 

At that, Vernon launched himself at Harry and landed a few punches, only because Draco’s wand was caught on the lining of his pocket before he was levitated to the middle of the living room. 

“Locomotor Mortis,” Draco said, his wand focused on the man. He leapt to Harry’s side, who was on the floor wiping blood from his face. Draco offered him a silk handkerchief and he took it gratefully, pressing it to the cut on his eye. 

“You bloody fag! I was going to threaten to show him the pictures, but I bet you’d both get off on that, wouldn’t you?” He spat, and Harry froze.

“Harry what pictures.” The boy’s tone was even and smooth and it scared him. 

“Not now, Draco.”

He tossed the empty carton in the trash and headed upstairs. 

“Keep an eye on him, yeah?”

Harry ran up the stairs and was blocked by Dudley, who was flung into his room with the mutter of a spell from Harry’s chapped lips. The doors slammed shut and locked him in. 

“You’re an arse!” Harry shouted, and ran to his room to collect his few belongings and change. With a single suitcase, a backpack and a rattled-looking Hedwig, he ran down the narrow staircase and left his things by the front door and returned to the kitchen to retrieve Draco. Vernon was red as a tomato and panting, surrounded by every kitchen knife and fork from the drawer by the sink. Harry sighed. 

“Draco, put the knives down. C’mon, let’s go.”

The slytherin stared at him wildly. 

“We’re not gonna just _allow him to_ -“

“We are _not_ going to hurt him, understand? I don’t need to be a felon as well as a runaway. Let’s go.”

Draco sighed and the knives dropped, but the paralysis curse he’d used on bound the legs, not the arms. He thought it’d be a good idea-to let the man flail around in vain. He realised his foolishness as he heard Harry cry out, a pair of scissors embedded in his side. Fuming, Draco shouted “Petrificus Totalus!” and sent the man spinning in circles through the air. He turned to Harry, who’d removed the scissors and was clutching the wound.

”Fuck,” Draco swore. 

He rushed him out the door and into the waiting car, making sure he was seated with the help of Finchley before running back inside to get the cases Harry left by the door and throwing them in the trunk. He slid smoothly into the seat next to him and rolled his window down to shoot a small fireball into the garden. If the house burned as well, it wouldn’t weigh on his conscience. 

Harry gasped in pain, and Draco was reminded that _oh yeah, my boyfriend’s just been fucking shanked by a pair of scissors._

“Draco, can you? Wand’s in my back pocket, I can’t…”

“Of course, sorry.” 

Draco healed the wound, unable to look at the pain in his face and magicked Harry’s hands and clothing clean, thankful for the divider between them and Finchley.

Harry felt the lingering ache in his side but thanked him and sighed, knocking his head against the seat. 

“That’s it, Harry. They’re gone. It’s over.”

Harry smiled. 

“Bloody hell, Draco. What now?”

He grinned. 

“Well, now we head to my family’s-well...my flat back in Canary Wharf. Then I’m taking you to New York for Christmas, and we’ll head back to Hogwarts a week late because a), fuck school and b) I need to speak with someone regarding my parents’ wills, and he won’t be back until the third.”

Harry nodded. 

“Sounds good.”

Draco adjusted himself in his seat. 

“Oh, and I only had time to grab the stuff you left by the door.”

“It’s fine, that was everything.”

Draco frowned, thinking of the single trunk, owl cage and the little backpack he’d retrieved from the house.

“That’s all? That’s all you have?”

Harry nodded, suddenly self-conscious.

“I mean, it’s all I need. It’s alright.”

Draco just shook his head, concluding that it would take at least thirty trunks to pack up just his wardrobe. 

“Right. Well, you can’t exactly wear your school robes in the muggle world and I simply won’t be seen in public with you wearing _that,”_ he said, gesturing to the ratty blue jeans and hoodie he’d had changed into upstairs. 

Harry grinned. 

“Alright Malfoy, you’re the boss.”

He pulled him close and kissed him hard. 

“Damn right I am,” Draco growled, and Hedwig scuffled around in Harry’s lap. 

.

The condo was spacious, but surprisingly cozy. It had soaring ceilings but the rooms were smaller, and Draco’s room had a loft bed. Everything was creamy white. 

Harry looked around the library, noting the massive number of weathered volumes that collected dust on the shelves. 

“Blimey, your family’s got a lot of books.”

Draco smiled, hands in his pockets. 

“Yes...my grandmother. She was quite the bookworm.”

Harry turned to see the smile on his face adoring and sad. 

_So she’s dead,_ he thought. 

Draco snapped to attention in the way that he always does. 

“Right. Err...clothing. That’s what we were going to do.”

Harry was led to the base of the staircase to a closet, where Draco fished out his own raincoat and deliberated over the others. 

“You could wear my mother’s, it might fit you better than mine” he joked, and Harry tilted his head at the frilly purple coat. 

“I could, yes.”

Draco wriggled into his own coat and just smiled, handing over his spare jacket. 

“Here.”

The boy took it gratefully and the two of them left, Harry holding the large umbrella over Draco’s head while he locked the doors with muggle keys. 

“Can’t you just use magic?”

The wizard sighed and walked down the front steps to the curb, where Finchley was waiting in the Bentley. 

“I wish. But the people who own the building have cameras on the front step. My father had to obliviate the entire security staff one time when he locked me out and I’d used my wand to open the door.”

Harry grimaced and they slid into the cold leather seats. 

“The fallout from that must not have been fun,” he commented. 

Draco looked as emotionless as ever but thoughtful, staring intently at something that wasn’t there.

“No, it wasn’t. Finchley, Harrods.” he called, and Harry noted the way he rubbed uncomfortably at the scars that lay beneath his shirt, how his eyes clouded over in a tortured reverie. 

“Yes, sir.”

Harry frowned. 

“Draco, isn’t Harrods, like-“

“Harry, shut up. You have no formal wear. Or casual wear, for that matter. You are, _extremely_ lacking in the ‘wear’ department.”

“I don’t _need_ any formal wear.” 

“You will eventually.” He told him, somewhat cryptically. 

The busy streets of London whizzed by through the tinted windows and the next three or so hours were spent with Harry following Draco around like a bored child, exhausted and trying on clothes.

Harry was not allowed to see the check at the end. Finchley popped the trunk and helped them load up the bags, and within a matter of minutes they were at the condo’s doorstep, where they got out and Finchley started carrying the it all inside. Draco insisted on helping. He left a single bag behind, basically his way of trying to make Harry feel less useless, but also _just let me take care of you._ And laden with guilt, he did.

It was true that focusing on someone else seemed to take the wizard’s mind off things, but Harry couldn’t help feeling that he was being exploitative. The young Malfoy bid Finchley farewell and told him to say hello to his daughter for him, and Draco announced that he was going to shower. Leaving him to his own devices left Harry anxious, but he gave him space and turned on the telly, an ancient thing that looked like it’d never been used. Doctor Who reruns were on and so he watched. Draco ambled down the stairs half an hour later with blankets and pillows. They snuggled down into the sofa and watched Matt Smith, who Harry openly admitted to having a crush on. It only elicited a slight grumble from Draco, who good-naturedly agreed that the man was “a bit odd looking, but in an endearing way.” Hours rolled by like carriages and the boys fell asleep on the couch, in each other’s arms. 

.

It was dusk when Harry awoke and he found Draco going through old pictures on his phone. He panicked just a touch, recalling the time Dudley stole it and dropped it in the toilet, jeering him about his texts to Hermione. Harry told him she was just a friend and ‘I actually know girls. Unlike some people, I’m not desperate to try and fuck each one I meet!’. He still felt the fracture in his orbital bone from that day, and worse things in other places from that night. 

_It’s fine. I can trust him, and I’ve got nothing to hide._

“Ah, and sleeping beauty awakens.”

Harry yawned in reply and squeezed his eyes shut when Draco tilted the screen toward him. 

“Was this you?”

His eyes adjusted to the light, and there was a picture of himself at five years old displayed on the screen. 

“Erm-yeah, I downloaded it from all the family pictures that were on a disk drive from my old house.”

The pale wizard smiled, and put the phone on the ottoman respectfully. he sure didn’t want anyone looking through his own family portraits…

Harry stretched his legs and got up, yowling like a cat and grabbing his phone. 

Draco looked up at him hopefully.

“Dinner?”

The boy grinned. 

.

Both of them were dressed, Harry donning corduroys and a sportcoat he’d retrieved from the shopping bags. They walked out into the brisk evening air and were relieved to see that it wasn’t raining, and the weather service on Harry’s phone had told them there was no precipitation to be expected. They caught a cab, Finchley having gone home for the evening and left for the restaurant inside a hotel that Draco claimed had the best Osso Bucco he’d ever had. He was right. They were sat at a table near the middle of the restaurant, and Harry was halfway through the tender veal dish when he noticed it. 

“Draco?”

“Mm?”

The wizard took a sip of champagne and looked up to find a distraught looking Potter in his field of vision. 

“What’s wrong, love?”

Harry gulped and reached his hand across the table, to the cuff of his crisp white shirt. Well, it used to be white. 

Red bloomed brightly across the fabric and Draco hurriedly put his jacket back on. 

“How bad is it?”

Harry asked. 

He just pursed his lips and proceeded to gulp down the last of his drink. 

“Draco.”

“It’s fine!”

People around them looked over curiously, and Draco was grateful for the jazz band in the corner that saved them from silence.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, much quieter this time. 

“You are _bleeding,_ Draco, _injured._ That’s like, the definition of not-fine.”

He sighed. 

“It’s not-it’s not that bad.”

“Did you bandage it?”

He nodded. 

“So it’s not that bad, yet it still bled through the bandages-and then your sleeve.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m not at imminent risk. Let’s just have a normal dinner, like a _normal_ couple and then we’ll go home and I’ll deal with it. Alright?”

He expected Harry to be disappointed and he was, but a slight smile also bloomed across his cheeks. 

“A couple…”

Draco grinned. Hadn’t even realised he’d said it.

“Yes, Harry. A couple.”

“Well I definitely like the sound of that.”

. 

They ate and left. Draco tried not to think about the dampness in his sleeve and made sure to hold Harry’s hand with the other as they walked home in the blue darkness. Harry had said he needed some air. Draco admitted he hadn’t really gone _walking_ before-was that a thing people did? But it was nice, though he wasn’t sure how much of that he could attribute to being near Harry. Harry who, thankfully, didn’t bring up his little accident until they reached the doorstep. He slid in the keys and they walked in, and he was led by the hand to the bathroom. 

“Stay here, my wand’s in my coat.”

Draco frowned. 

“It’s fine, I can-“

“I want to do this.” The sincerity in Harry’s gaze crushed his protests underfoot and he relented as the wizard undid his cufflink and rolled the bloodied sleeve back. 

The cuts were _bad_ , but Harry continued as professionally as possible and made quick work of healing the wounds and wiping orangey brown stains from the now scarred skin with a damp towel. 

He’d half expected him to follow him in, to not trust him alone, but Draco escaped to his bedroom without a word and changed, and when he came back, Harry was waiting for him in the kitchen with two cups of hot chocolate. 

He took the mug and thanked him, sitting on a barstool across the counter from him and blowing on the drink. 

“Why didn’t you use magic?” Harry asked.

“What for?”

“To heal the wounds. Why didn’t you just use magic afterwards? Why the bandages?”

Draco gulped, staring into his chocolate. 

“I erm...I wanted it to last. The pain, that is.”

Harry shook his head and sniffled, and Draco didn’t dare look at him. He heard the sharp _crack_ of a porcelain mug hitting the counter, and footsteps. 

There were arms around him and tears in his shirt. 

“I love you so much, Draco.”

“I know.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do this…”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

Draco sighed. 

“That, I don’t know _._ It’s more complicated than a single-sentence answer. You’d need an eight-page essay and a few paintings just to explain the sentiment. But I think...I just...I feel like I deserve it, y’know?” 

“You don’t, that’s bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I deserve something, some way to pay the consequences for what I’ve done. I suppose this is all I’ve got, for now.”

Harry shook his head. 

“You’ve got me.”

At that moment, Draco felt an odd mixture of guilt and overwhelming love. It fascinated him. 

.

Draco was waiting beside the brewing tea whilst Harry was fumbling through a box of tapes he’d found in the bookshelf. Hairs stood on the back of his neck and he didn’t know why he felt such dread. 

“What’s this?”

Harry looked up at him with an endearing grin, holding aloft a dusty old cassette tape. 

Draco frowned. 

“I believe it is a cassette tape.”

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Cheeky git. No, I meant what’s on it?”

“What’s the label say? It’s probably some old movie.”

His watch beeped annoyingly and Draco turned around and fished the strainer out of the teapot. 

“Erm...it’s faded, I can’t quite make it out.”

“Well put it in.”

“Yeah.”

Draco heard faint whirring, and he walked round the kitchen island and placed two mugs and the teapot heavily on the coffee table.

The tape was gobbled up by the old television and Harry plopped unceremoniously onto the overstuffed sofa, accepting the tea offered to him. The screen crackled to life. There was static for a moment, only voices. They were singing. 

“ _Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Hecatia, happy birthday to you!”_

The Malfoy family was on-screen now, looking youthful. A cake floated onto the table and a little girl blew out the candles on a small chocolate cake. Something was odd about her, though. Her hair was as bright blonde as any Malfoy, but it was black at the roots, as if it had been bleached, or the charm keeping it blonde was wearing off. Lucius stood stiffly behind Draco, a hand on his shoulder. Narcissa helped the girl cut her cake, just the way muggles did. Lucius obviously didn’t approve but he watched as the girl and her mother’s hands both held the knife and cut it unevenly. 

Lucius bent down and whispered something in Draco’s ear that made him stiffen, then he jumped up and ran to the other room. He returned with plates and laid them out on the table. Returning to his seat, he got a cuff on the head from his father. 

Draco and Hecatia ate their cake, and Narcissa pardoned herself to the other room, only to be dragged half the way there by her husband. 

Shouting could be heard. 

_“This is not how we do things, Narcissa!”_

_“No, this is how I do things. With my children.”_

_“Your children? Including that mongrel?”_

_“If you insult my daughter one more time you bastard, I-“_

A loud slap rang out through the room, and both children stopped eating. 

_“Listen to me, woman. I allow her to live in my house, where she does not belong. I have clothed her and fed her. If you’d like to keep it that way, I suggest you keep your filthy mouth shut and behave yourself. Understood?”_

A muffled whimper and the distinct sound of Narcissa’s heels on the ceramic floor sent shivers down Harry’s spine. The children looked at each other nervously, and Hecatia put a hand over Draco’s. 

_“It’s alright,”_ she told him. 

Narcissa emerged with her hair looking slightly dishevelled and bright red fingerprints on her neck. Her left cheek was pinkish. 

_“Are you alright, mummy?”_

Draco asked. The woman seemed as if she were about to cry, looking down at her son. 

_“I’m fine, sweetheart. Just had to wash my face.”_

_“Is that why it’s red?”_

Narcissa squeezed her eyes shut in a manner just shy of a wince and nodded. 

_“Yes. The water was nice and warm. Now eat your cake!”_

Draco smiled and shoved a forkful into his mouth. Hecatia wasn’t fooled. 

_“Where is father?”_

Narcissa looked to the doorway and her face darkened.

_“He’s just gone to his study.”_

The girl’s eyes narrowed, but she returned to dejectedly prodding at the dessert. 

Narcissa produced a small box from a drawer in the console behind her and put it on the table next to Hecatia, who opened it with excited savagery while her mother cut a small sliver of cake for herself and took a seat between her children. 

_“Oh, it’s lovely!”_ She exclaimed, holding an ornate necklace up in the dim light. 

_“Thank you, mother.”_

_“You’re welcome, sweet.”_

Narcissa’s slender fingers gently grazed the marks on her neck, and she dropped them immediately. 

_“Well, I’m off to bed, and you should be too.”_

She smiled and pecked both children on the head before walking briskly away, and her footfalls could be heard faintly on the staircase. 

Roache’s voice came from behind the camera. 

_“I’ll be right back, children.”_

The view is shaky and low to the ground as it’s taken off whatever stand had been holding it, and it’s obvious that Roache was carrying the camera up the stairs. He caught only a brief shot of shouting and Narcissa lying on the floor before the door slammed shut, with a hiss of _“Go to bed, Draco.”_

The screen flickered and Harry paused. The whirring ceased. 

“Draco?”

The young man was frozen, cold tea in his lap and fear in his eyes, red-rimmed and feral. 

“Draco, I think we should turn it off. I think-“

“No.”

His voice was raspy and hoarse in a way that took both of them by surprise. He cleared his throat. 

“No, I need to see this.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

He opened his to agree, but shook his head. 

“I don’t-I don’t really trust myself.”

Harry nodded. 

“Neither do I.”

He hit play on the clunky old remote and took the mug of tea from Draco’s lap and placed it on the table, shuffling over on the sofa to sit closer to him. He said nothing, but the upward-facing open palm said _I’m here._ Draco’s bony hand took his own and the VCR hummed back to life. 


	8. Twenty-Three Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter to compensate for fucking it up last time...sorry guys.

The camera’s view was partially blocked by a cupboard door, as if Roache were hiding. He probably was. 

_“You really thought I would allow this?”_

The distinct sound of a body hitting the floor made Harry wince, and he wished he could turn the volume down but the remote was on the other side of the couch and Draco would have stopped him. 

_“I’m sorry, Father, I tried. You know I tried.”_

_“Your trying is entirely irrelevant. You failed.”_

_“I did, I did and I’m sorry, you don’t have to do this-“_

The voice was silenced with a kick, and the camera moved to see it. It dawned on Harry what he was doing. 

_Evidence,_ he thought. _Roache was collecting evidence._

The boy scrambled to get to his feet. 

_“Stand, boy.”_

He stood. 

A be-ringed hand grabbed him by the collar. 

_“What do you have to say for yourself?”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“For what!?”_ He roared, and cuffed Draco on the ear. 

_“For doing poorly on my test. For disappointing you.”_

A fist hit him in the eye and there was another kick to his ribs before Lucius walked away. 

_“Clean yourself up.”_

Roache waited a few seconds after the man was gone before running over to help. 

The small boy was lying on the ground, blood dripping from his nose and staining his teeth red. He smiled. 

_“Roache…”_

The elf sighed. 

_“Let’s get you to bed.”_

The camera was pointed towards the floor and the sound of the boy and the elf hobbling up the staircase and into his bedroom was all that could be heard.

The next time they see young Draco, his bloodied shirt was tossed on the bed and his torso was peppered with the bright-red of new bruises, which Roache healed with care. 

_“Why’ve you got the camera?”_ The boy mumbled sleepily. 

_“Because your father is a cruel man and one day, he will pay.”_

The screen cut out again, and the next thing the boys on the couch were shone nearly sent both of them running. 

Draco was older now, lying on his bed, bleeding. There was blood on the floor and the covers were only halfway on the bed from where he’d dragged himself up. He looked like shit, his nose bent at an awkward angle and his body peppered with bruises. His cheek was so swollen, he could hardly see out of his left eye. 

Harry looked over to Draco now, who tenderly felt the ridges of his orbital bone like it still hurt. 

Sure, he was a sickening sight. But the worst part was his chest. _Disappointment,_ carved into his skin. 

_So that’s when it happened,_ Harry thought. 

The boy smiled at the ceiling. 

_“Evening, Roache.”_

_“Good evening, Dray.”_

Without another word, he began healing all of the boy’s injuries. The only reaction he got was a brief _ow, fuck,_ when his nose popped back into the right position. 

The elf moved his gnarled hand over the lettering on Draco’s stomach, but it wasn’t healing. 

He grunted in confusion and tried again. The boy just shook his head. 

_“You can’t heal it. No one can. He made sure of it. Wanted to make sure I never forgot.”_

Harry’s stomach churned. 

He tried once more, then transfigured a nearby sock into gauze. 

_“Roache, I liked those socks.”_

_“Well, you won’t like bleeding to death. Come here.”_

There was a dangerous look on Draco’s face that said _yeah, sure, I’ll try bleeding to death,_ as if it were a line of coke at a party. 

His wounds were wrapped delicately and the camera was propped on the foot of the bed. 

_“I still don’t know why you have to record all this.”_

_“I’ve told you, it’s for evidence.”_

_“Yeah, but it’s embarrassing.”_

The elf just shook his head. 

_“No, what’s embarrassing is being the same bloody species as that monster.”_

Draco shook his head. 

_“Thanks.”_

_“Anytime, my friend.”_

The camera cut out again and Harry hoped this was the end, he really, _really_ did, but the next thing they saw was Draco, not more than a year ago. Just before the war. 

His hand was up by the side of the camera to turn it on, and he dropped it back into his lap. Harry’s heart lurched when he realised he was in the attic. In _that_ chair. It was cleaner now, though still had smudges of blood here and there. Drips. Some were older and smudged, others were newer, brighter and just _there,_ like he’d given up on trying to clean the thing. He leaned back with a smug look on his face. 

_“Hello there. I erm...I made a mistake.”_

He unrolled his sleeve to reveal the dark mark, black and mostly unmarred. There were no scars, apart from inflamed skin. He must’ve been scratching at it. 

_“But I’m going to put it right. And in the meantime, I may end up fixing the mistake my parents made. Seventeen years ago.”_

He smiled and just discarded his shirt altogether. There was no _MONSTER_ written across his rib cage yet, but the _Disappointment_ had scarred over long ago, and _USELESS_ was shallow and red, not quite healed yet just below it. Must not have been deep enough to scar. Draco pulled out his wand and held it above his pale skin, looking peaceful as ever. 

_“Actually, I...well, if I don’t-if I die. If this little exercise kills me. I want whoever that sees this tape to tell my mother that I am sorry, and that she needs to get the fuck out of this place. Do not, under any circumstances, show her this tape. Destroy it if you find it. But there are more. Roache will know. There are tapes of her, of what father did to her. To us. She can take those to a...Silvia? I think it’s Silvia-could be Cynthia-anyhow, a Mrs. Gregory at the ministry. They’ll be more than enough evidence to file for divorce. And charge him with domestic abuse, child endangerment....etcetera, etcetera. Anyway...I just...I want her to be okay. Whoever you are, tell her that. Roache, if it’s you, please tell her that. You understand why I’m doing this. Thank you for being there for me. And if you ever meet Harry Potter, tell him that…”_

Draco frowned, gripping his wand. 

_“Nevermind. Just tell him who I really was.”_

With that, he began feverishly slashing at the pale flesh of his wrist. The wand never touched his skin, but the large gashes blossomed and painted the chair red, staining Draco’s white shirt. He switched to the other wrist, growing delirious. He passed out soon enough, just staring at the blood that dripped down the arms of the chair. A few minutes passed, minutes of silence between the two boys on the couch. The tape glitched and Harry wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the light from the windows of the attic had grown low and reddish in the evening. 

Onscreen, his eyes fluttered open and he winced at the crusted-over wounds. Draco yawned and lifted his wrist from where it was plastered to the chair. The sudden movement must have torn something because blood sprayed from a particularly nasty cut and he swore, quickly closing it up. It left behind an ugly scar. They all did. 

He sighed and admired his handiwork, the Dark Mark barely visible under the pink and purple scars. 

He was broken out of his reverie by something heard off-camera, and quickly magicked the blood out of his clothes. He turned to the chair, but left it dirty. The camera was left rolling. 

The screen crackled and stopped, the whirring of the tape quieting. Harry and Draco were left with silence and clasped hands, the only light was coming from the overheads in the kitchen. Harry turned to look at him, and he was shaking. Slightly. Had tears that crept down his cheeks and a minutely trembling lip. His left hand was quaking as it always did-nerve damage, Harry knew. From his late night escapades on the floor of the shower. 

“Draco?”

He swallowed. 

“Draco.”

“There are more,” he croaked. 

“I don’t think we should watch those. I don’t think you should relive that.”

He nodded his head in the direction of the remaining tapes in the box by the TV set and the slytherin shuddered. 

“I think I need to. Closure. I’ll move on once I accept that it happened. It really did happen…” he whispered, as if he were just now realising it. 

“Did you not remember?”

“Hoped it was a nightmare.”

Harry sighed. 

“Well, I’m going to get some biscuits. If this is what you think you need, then I’ll support you.”

He pecked Draco’s damp cheek, wiped it with his sleeve and walked over to the cupboard in the kitchen. The place was surprisingly well-stocked. Harry suspected they had Finchley to thank for that-or perhaps the housekeeper. Probably the housekeeper. A packet of shortbread biscuits was in a cupboard near the pantry and he unloaded them onto a plate, which he brought to the coffee table. Draco was sliding another tape into the VCR player and stumbled back onto the sofa. 

“Harry?” He whined. 

“Yeah?”

“There are blankets in the closet by the door. Could you-?”

He nodded. 

“Of course.”

The wizard returned with the enormous blankets they’d used before, now folded neatly in the cloest. He’d never taken the Malfoys for a fluffy-blanket sort of family, though. The quilt was draped over Draco and Harry snuggled under next to him. 

They cuddled up and the TV crackled to life. 

“If at any point you need me to close my eyes or leave, or explode the tapes on a remote atoll in the Tropic of Cancer, let me know.”

“Won’t be necessary, Potter. Thank you, though.”

Harry nodded and threw an arm around him, noticing the way his whole body tensed when the tape started rolling. 

They were in the attic again, Draco lay gasping on the ground in a similar shirt to the one he’d worn in the last video. He ripped it off and there were ribs poking about in places they shouldn’t be. His wand glowed over his skin and the bones popped back gruesomely into place, left him groaning on the floor. 

_“He’s right, he’s right…”_ The troubled boy mumbled, shutting his eyes. 

With a defeated sigh he stood, breathing heavy, and proceeded to slash the word _MONSTER_ into his skin. The door creaked open and he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

_“R-Roache. I didn’t see you there.”_

_“Oh Draco…”_

The kind elf ambled over to him and knocked his wand to the floor, wordlessly healing the wounds and wrapping gangly arms around the boy’s torso. 

_“No more,”_ he said. 

_“No more.”_

Harry thought he just might be crying. 

The next scene showed Draco in a velvet robe, looking thin and worn, five o’clock shadow peppering his bruised jaw. 

_“Erm...yeah, we’re back here again. Same old shit..”_ He laughed humorlessly, tossed his wand in the air and caught it, chewing through his lip. 

_“So my father brought something to my attention recently regarding my existence-mainly that it should be terminated. It would seem I am a useless heir, and he’s only trying to whip me into shape so I can continue the mighty Malfoy bloodline.”_

He spat his own last name with such malice, it was almost shocking. Almost. 

_“Well, fuck the Malfoy bloodline. Fern has already moved out. Sh-sorry, he, is in America laying low. He’ll inherit everything. If I die. Probably. Actually I’m not so sure about that...fuck it. I don’t care. Not my problem. He’ll be fine.”_

Draco rubbed his temples and crossed his legs, wand held to his neck. 

_“So close…” he murmured._

He saluted the camera with a wicked grin and shut his eyes. 

_“Diffin-“_

_“Expelliarmus!”_

A woman’s voice cried, and Narcissa Malfoy came running forward. 

He glanced sadly at the wand that lay fifteen feet away on the ground, then shrugged flippantly as if to say _Oh well...there’s always tomorrow. But now I’ve got to deal with her…_

Narcissa wrapped her arms around Draco’s neck, sobbing. 

_“What the bloody hell is wrong with you? Why would you-Draco why would you do that?”_

She continued crying and Draco maintained his stoic expression, ran a hand comfortingly through her hair. 

Narcissa fell to her knees and rested her head in her son’s lap, crying softly. 

_“Why, Draco, I can’t lose you, please, I can’t…”_

She wept, and heart-wrenching guilt displayed itself on Draco’s face. When she looked up it was gone. 

_“I’m sorry, mother, I’m sorry…”_

She shook her head and dried her eyes. 

_“No, no, you shouldn’t-you should be crying, you should need comforting, what the hell am I doing...it’s all wrong…”_

He slid down to the floor next to her and held her. 

_“It’s alright, mum. I’m fine. I’m okay. You helped me, you did it. You’re okay. I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.”_

The two remained there for a while before Draco helped Narcissa to her feet. 

_“You’ll be sore, mum. Let’s get you to bed.”_

_“Don’t do that, Draco, don’t take care of me…”_ She murmured, but sleep sat heavy on her shoulders and she yawned. They hobbled off screen. 

The next few tapes were a roller coaster, but it was an informative ride. There were holidays, with Lucius looming darkly over the family. The film was spliced together awkwardly, with some clips from 2009 and some from 2015, then back to 2006. There was a birthday party for a one-year-old Draco, where both his parents were smiling and young. There remained that odd tightness that was always evident in the Malfoys’ company, but it was more “I choose to be extremely polite and formal all of the time because that’s simply the way I live” and less “I’ve got a broomstick shoved so far up my arse that it is impossible for me to behave like a human being.” 

There were two Christmases where Draco’s father was absent. The first one was early on, he was in Italy on a business trip. The family-including Roache-all opened presents, drank poilburn tea and watched movies on an old reel they’d hidden in the attic. The second one was years later. Lucius was meeting with Voldemort, right before they’d decided to get Draco involved. Fern was much older, apparently home from Uni. A muggle university, which Harry found odd. She looked androgynous as ever; had short, unruly black hair she no longer charmed blonde and dressed distinctly masculine. There was one present that made her tear up, and that was a chest-binder. Then, Harry understood. She’d looked to her mother who held her tight, told her that she supported her all the way. It was heartwarming. Ten years ago, if you’d shown this clip to Harry he’d have sworn it was doctored. 

The contrast was jarring. The video went from family christmas to the camera being hidden again, Lucius beating Draco bloody. Roache ran forward to intercede and was sent flying against a wall. Four minutes and six broken ribs later, Harry turned off the telly, holding his stomach just as Lucius was about to hit Draco with another Cruciatus.

Draco was stunned, his bones aching. 

_I remember that…_

Harry looked at him with these-these _eyes,_ and _he shouldn’t be allowed to look at me like that._

Draco nearly withered beneath his gaze. 

“I’m-I’m sorry, Harry. I shouldn’t have made you watch this, I-it was selfish. A shitty thing to do. I didn’t realise that, and-“ he was cut off by seventy-kilograms of muscley wizard wrapping itself around him.

“I’m so sorry Draco, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe he did that to you, I can’t believe _you_ did that to you, I’m sorry…” he cried. 

“Harry it’s alright. I’m fine now.”

He pulled away and looked him in the eyes. 

“No, no you’re not. You’re very not fine.”

Draco shrugged. 

“Yeah, okay, maybe I’m not. But...I’m more fine now that you’re here.”

Harry smiled and hugged him fiercely. 

Draco was the one to break it off. 

“It’s nearly two in the morning, love. We should get some rest.”

Harry nodded and stumbled from the couch, and the two fell into bed, both wearing Draco’s pyjamas. 

.

He wished his legs would stop swaying, but soon his stomach churned and he felt like his brain was phasing in and out of reality. Dizziness clutched his head with sharp claws and Draco practically fell into the bathroom, where partially digested veal and rich chocolate cake gushed forth into the spotless toilet bowl. It splashed into the water and onto his forehead, which wrinkled in disgust. The voices in his head agreed that it was the worst park of puking one’s guts out.

_God, I hate this._

His stomach continued to revolt within him even after it was empty, sour champagne and mucus dripping from his mouth and nose. It was only when he had calmed down and cold shivers spasmed through his body, and he pressed his hairline into the cold porcelain that he took notice of the broad hand on his back. He briefly panicked. 

_Who is that? Why are they in my house? Is it Bellatrix? Is she going to kill me too?_

A sleek glass of water was clammy in his hand and even clammier against his chapped lips, and he wiped his chin with a silken sleeve. 

Draco swished the water around in his mouth, grimacing as food was dislodged and spat it into the toilet. He heard the shower turn on behind him and the room steadily filled with steam, despite the fan in the ceiling. He shut his eyes and wished for this to be a nightmare. The hand was at his shoulder now and it slid down to his forearm to help him up, then back to his elbow after an unsolicited gasp wrenched itself from his lungs and the new scar tissue on his wrist was twisted painfully. 

“Sorry, sorry…” The owner of the hand muttered, and it had taken Draco far too long in his delirious state to realise that it was Harry. He was only a bit disappointed. 

_So I’m not dying, then...dammit._

Draco allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet and disrobed, his last shred of pride dissipating as he fumbled with the belt buckle like he’d forgotten how it worked. 

His hands were replaced with Harry’s, and he realised that it was far more practical this way, given that Potter wasn’t functioning like a man whose muscles had atrophied and had developed Parkinson’s over the last eight minutes. He seriously pondered this before coming to the conclusion that neither Parkinson’s nor severe muscle atrophy occurred in that short of a time span. 

The warm water of the shower hit his chest and washed away the crusted over vomit that had settled in the dip of his collarbones. Expert hands were at his back again, now slippery and smelling faintly of chrysanthemums. 

_It smells so familiar…_

The soap was hosed gently off his skin and his vocal cords were scratchy and painful when he spoke. Which was precisely why he hadn’t planned on speaking at all. 

“Thought you were here to kill me,” he muttered. 

_Shit, why did I just say that?_

The lathering of the soap on his shoulders ceased for a moment and resumed. 

“Why would you think that? I mean...I wasn’t-but I’d never hurt you, that’s all…”

“I know. I just...thought you were Bellatrix. Thought you were here to finally finish it.”

“Finish what?”

“Me.”

Harry sighed sadly, barely masking the concern he felt at hearing how disappointed Draco sounded. 

_Disappointed that I love him, and I’m taking care of him. Disappointed that I’m not his his psychopathic aunt come to torture and murder him._

He shook his head. 

“Well, last I checked I wasn’t your aunt, or evil...pretty sure I’m still a bloke. Though I could probably pull off the dress...”

The slytherin smirked and tried to forget about dignity as the hands scrubbed at his papery skin. 

_Chrysanthemums, sandalwood…_

He was passed a fluffy towel and for a moment he just stood there, the heat from the shower fleeing his body like it had somewhere to be. Harry left, and the cool draught floated in from the open door and snaked around Draco’s dripping waist. He snapped out of his trance and towelled most of himself off, then tied it around his waist like a sarong and padded out of the moist shower air. He noticed that his vomit-stained clothes were nowhere to be found and his fuzzy slippers were on the bathmat. He grinned and let himself continue to be pampered, drying his feet on the spongy material and sliding them, still damp, into the shearling-lined moccasins. Walking on clouds, he swung open his creaky closet door and shook the dust out of another pair of pyjamas which were slid over stiff joints with a little too much effort, then turned around to find the bed empty. He headed down two tightly-twisting staircases and a short corridor to the kitchen, where Harry was sitting atop the island watching the teapot, kicking the cabinets with the heels of his feet. He stopped as soon as Draco walked in, as if he felt it was disrespectful. It would have been, had they known each other half as well as they did and if Draco gave a damn. But he didn’t, and Harry seemed to sense this, for the assault on the wooden panels began once more. 

“It’s all your fault,” Draco said, in a mock-accusing tone. 

Harry tossed his head back. 

“What is?”

“The chocolate cake. It was your idea.”

He grinned. Draco opened the freezer and retrieved half a gallon of ice cream and two spoons from the drawer next to it. 

“Too rich?”

He nodded and slid down along the dishwasher to the flagstone floor with his legs folded beneath him and the ice cream in his lap. He sent a spoon flying at Harry, but it only bounced off his chest and back onto the floor with a clatter that made him wince. 

“Oh shit,” The pale wizard mumbled in a monotone. 

Harry hopped down from his perch, retrieved the spoon and dug it into the ice cream without missing a beat. Draco made a face. 

“That was on the ground.”

“Mhmm. And now it’s in my mouth.”

He grinned devilishly and sucked the dessert off the spoon in a way that made Draco’s heart do the macarena in his chest and _goddammit, he knows exactly what he’s doing._

Harry’s watch beeped obnoxiously and he fished the strainer out of the pot. 

“Y’know, most people don’t eat entire gallons of frozen desserts when they’re not feeling well.”

“Fuff you, Po’er,” he whined through a mouthful of mint chocolate chip. 

Harry just smiled and put down two mugs of a warm tea his mother had bought and never opened. It was called _Guayusa_ ; she thought it sounded exotic.

He sat down on the floor across from Draco, legs outstretched and reaching the other side. 

“Why are you eating with a tiny spoon? Why do you _have_ a tiny spoon?”

Draco rolled his eyes and continued taking his mouse-sized bites. 

“It’s called a demitasse spoon. It’s for tea,” he grumbled. 

“Why don’t they call it a teaspoon?”

“Name’s taken.”

“Well...why are you eating with it?”

“Because I can.”

Harry frowned, but Draco handed him the container and he took a few bites with his own, normal-sized spoon before leaving it on the ground between them. 

“Draco, you don’t...you don’t have to answer this, but…”

The slytherin sucked in an almost-silent breath. 

“Did she do it? Did Bellatrix try to kill you?”

Draco thought he’d feel at least a little bit sad. Guilty. Fuck, even traumatised. 

He was all of those things, but it was nothing new and it did not stir anything deep inside of him. There were no flashbacks of his parent’s wedding photos or his mother helping him tie a Windsor Knot. Just a sort of creaky, aching feeling in his chest as the emptiness was once again realised. Grief wasn’t at all cinematic, and Draco was thoroughly disappointed.

“Yeah. Good ol’ killing curse.”

He muttered, chasing a glob of ice cream with scalding hot tea. The contrasting temperatures set his insides on fire. 

“She tried to kill me because Voldemort wanted her to, and I fucked up. It’s how my mother died.”

Harry cast his gaze down and exhibited all the normal signs of empathy in the rest of his demeanour. Draco wondered what it’d be like to have that naturally, and briefly recalled the hours and hundreds of pounds he’d spent on books about body language and how to make people feel a certain way by the position of your shoulders and your left eyebrow. He’d had to teach himself to be human. 

“Weren’t...weren’t they sisters?”

Draco nodded. 

“Yep. Bella was her little sister. Mother always...she always said that she was a rebel without a cause. We all hoped to god she’d find one-y’know, something to fight for. I guess in a sense it was our fault, too. What happened.”

They ate in silence until Harry spoke. 

“You seemed disappointed.”

Draco gently snatched back the ice cream container and cradled it in his lap. 

“When?”

“When you realised I wasn’t her.”

He sighed, gulping more tea and frowning at how cold it’d become, wishing his wand weren’t...well, wherever it currently was. 

“I was. Mildly. I’m over it.”

“Draco, you shouldn’t be disappointed about that.”

The slytherin just shrugged, wiggled his toes inside his warm slippers. 

“Well, what can you do.” He muttered and pulled himself to his feet with the ice cream in his hand. It fell to the floor once he reached about seventy-percent of his full height and he immediately thrust a hand out to meet the cold countertop, bracing his weight against it until his head no longer felt like it had up and floated away. 

“God, are you alright?”

The pounding softened to a bearable pulse, and he nodded. 

“I’m fine. Just got up too quick.”

He walked over to retrieve the ice cream but Harry pushed past him. 

“I’ll get it, don’t want you keeling over.”

His tone was frosted with humour but Draco didn’t miss the concern in the way his brow wrinkled and the corner of his mouth creased. 

The slytherin just sighed and leaned against the island awkwardly, feeling guilty at the small green puddle on the floor. He didn’t bother trying to clean it up; he wouldn’t have been allowed to anyway. He heard the tap turn on and Harry wiped the mess up quickly with a damp napkin. 

“Draco?”

“Mm?”

“The lid, where is it?”

He frowned. 

“W-it fell on the ground.”

“Barely. I didn’t want to waste it.”

Draco rolled his eyes and dropped the carton and the lid into the rubbish bin, then grabbed Harry’s hand and practically dragged him back to bed. Harry had a weird look on his face and Draco made a mental note to tread carefully around him when it came to wasting shit. He was right, after all. The floor was literally clean enough to eat off of, and the dessert had remained in the container the whole time. But Draco didn’t trust himself not to eat more of it.

Once they’d gotten settled, Draco said he was going to make sure the door was locked- _you never know, muggles are crazy-_ and promptly threw up for the second time that night in the farthest toilet from his bedroom. 

_That’s the great thing about ice cream...it’s just as smooth coming back up as it is going down._

At the sink he wiped his face with a towel, more than slightly disgusted with himself.

He flooded his mouth with water and swished and spit so many times that his tongue tasted like chalk, then followed it up with a fast brushing that left him with bleeding gums. 

The mirror of the bathroom was beautiful and ornate and absolutely spotless. 

He thanked his mother for her odd fascination with Rococo and focused intently on the busy swirling patterns of its trim through the entire process. He trudged up the stairs to his room, licking toothpaste from his upper lip. 

Harry gave him a funny look. 

“Had to brush my teeth. Ice cream.”

He said, and got away with it. 

They cuddled up wordlessly and it wasn’t until Harry started carding his fingers through Draco’s hair that he realised. 

_Chrysanthemums._

It was his mother’s soap. 

He cried for an hour straight that night, and when they woke up to the busy sounds of London traffic and grey light in the rain drop-studded windows, his shirt was still wet and salty. 

But it was warmer than ever. 

.

It was over that morning’s breakfast that Harry found out floo travel was limited to the UK and continental Europe. Something to do with ley lines...he hadn’t listened. Draco was pulling down the panel that led to the attic, unfolding the large steel ladder inside. Harry followed him up the squeaky rungs and paused when he reached the top. It was bigger on the inside-because _of course_ it was-and the enchanted walls reached farther than what seemed possible. It wasn’t _that_ huge-but it was pretty remarkable. Harry pretended to be unimpressed and followed the wizard to a massive pile of trunks, taking the ones handed to him and levitating them down the entrance and onto the floor below. Draco climbed down from the stack with a large case swinging clunkily at his side. His blood ran cold when he saw what Harry was looking at it. 

_Fuck._

In front of him was an ivory-plated chair-more like a throne-with a pale blue velvet cushion and plush leather arms. Arms, which were stained rusty red, dried up rivulets that had streamed down the legs. What alarmed Harry was the splatter. Sure, drips were one thing. Drips could’ve even been a nosebleed. But splatters? Parts of it looked like someone had taken a spray bottle and misted the stuff on. His face was stricken when he turned back to the slytherin, who still held the case aloft. It was heavy and the muscles in his arm had begun to twitch, but it was as if he’d hardly noticed. Finally, Harry broke the quiet. 

“That’s erm...that’s a lot of blood.”

Draco nodded slowly and gulped, desperately trying to force the lump in his throat down. Tears pricked at his eyes and Harry realised he’d been slowly backing away from the chair. 

“Yes, well...magic can do...magic can fix a-a lot of-“ 

He made a gasping noise in his throat and let the case drop heavily. 

“I can’t do this,” he choked out and slid down the ladder, bumping his elbow on the way and twisting his ankle at the bottom. 

Harry sighed and picked up the case from the ground, eyeing the stained furniture behind him, gleaming bright white in the dark attic. Floorboards creaked under his footfalls and he crouched in front of it, seeing the rivers of pain that were crusted onto its surface. It was rather horrifying. He set his forehead against the edge of the seat and _breathed._

“I’m…” He whispered, then cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry, Draco.” His voice was clear and strong, now.

“I’m so sorry...I get it. I get it now. And I wasn’t there for you then. But I’m here for you now and I’m not leaving.”

Harry stayed there, faintly smelling Draco’s cologne in the fabric. With a deep breath, he placed a kiss against the soft blue velvet and set off to console his boyfriend. 

He found him in the walk-in, picking out clothing and folding it into a case and and zipping three suits into bags made solely for that purpose. 

“Draco?”

Nothing. 

“Draco are you alright?”

The slytherin peeked at him from behind the bag. 

“Oh! Hello. I’m just packing.”

Harry’s gaze softened, and he willed all of his emotion into his eyes. 

“What, why are you looking at me like that? Is something the matter?” the blonde asked, tossing a couple of pairs of socks into a compartment. 

He got these ridiculous puppy eyes. 

“I’m _fine,”_ he insisted. 

“No, you’re not. You’re not fine. You’re very not fine.”

Harry wrapped his arms around him from the back, burying his face in Draco’s neck. 

“What would have happened, had you been a muggle? Had you not been able to heal it all? How many times would you have died by now? How many times have you reached the point of no return and come back, only because you’ve got a magic bloody wand?”

His arms dropped to his sides, then rested over Harry’s on his stomach. 

“I lost count.”

That was a lie. Twenty-three, that was the number of times he’d seen the inner working of his wrist and bathed the attic in blood. Twenty-three times he’d lain gasping on the dusty floorboards, lungs punctured and sight blackening as he desperately tried to fix his father’s mess, cursing him with every _snap_ and _pop_ of his bones.

Harry just nodded. 

“Yeah.”

His voice was wet. Draco frowned and turned around, seeing how glassy his eyes were. 

“Oh Harry…”

The slytherin was wrapped in a tight hug, and Harry just sobbed. 

“I don’ wanna lose you, I can’t lose you too…” he whimpered. 

And the guilt that came crashing down on Draco was like a mantle of cinder blocks. His resolve nearly crumbled. 

_No, this is about Harry. Focus on Harry._

So Draco held him tight and realised just what an arse he’d been. No parents, no childhood, just an abusive aunt and uncle and the entirety of the wizarding world expecting him to be the new messiah. 

_God, I’m sorry I didn’t see before…_ he thought. It didn’t slip by him that sitting there, on his closet floor with Jesus Junior in his arms crying a river into his shirt, the little monster that tore around in his belly was calmer, just for a moment. 

He smiled, and hugged harder. 


	9. Private Jets, Destruction of Evidence and Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the hotel is supposed to be the Mandarin Oriental in New York. I haven’t been to the NY location in years, so if you google the place and it’s inaccurate, I apologise. (I know I’m right about the chocolate, though.)

Harry had never been on a jet. 

Actually, he’d never been on any sort of muggle flying contraption. The only experiences he had with flying were solely magic-based. He did not for one second trust the ramshackle chamber of death that hung precariously in the clouds, the one he was currently trapped inside. His knuckles were white against the cream leather. 

“Harry it’s alright. We’re fine. This is far less dangerous than a broom.”

“Then why, pray tell, is it making _noises_?”

Draco smirked. 

“It does that. We’ve nearly reached cruising altitude. Once we get there, it’ll be much smoother.”

He only got a glare from the raven-haired young man across him, the young man who, Draco noted, looked absolutely ravishing in that jumper he’d picked out.

As promised, the plane calmed down and a _ding_ could be heard from hidden speakers. The seatbelt icon lit red and Draco removed his hastily. He hated feeling trapped. 

Harry nearly jumped at the sound. 

“What does that mean? Why is it _dinging at us?”_

The slytherin stifled a laugh and leaned forward, rested his forearms on his knees. 

“It’s alright. Means you can take off your seat belt.”

Harry fumbled with the thing, muttering about how _if I die on here it’s your fault...bloody muggle deathtrap…_ etc. 

Though through all his complaints and condemnations of modern aviation, he still hadn’t managed to unbuckle the belt. 

Draco chuckled breathily and walked over, undoing the clasp for him, which earned him a glare. 

“I’m still mad we couldn’t just take our brooms.”

The blonde frowned. 

“Have you any idea how far it is? Y’know, the saying ‘across the pond’ is no indication of the actual distance between us and the states.”

All he got in return was a _huff,_ and the door at the end of the cabin opened to reveal a kindly young woman. The stewardess. 

“Good morning Mister Malfoy. Can I get you anything? A cuppa, perhaps?”

Draco smiled broadly. 

“Morning, Chelsea. How’s your nephew?”

The woman’s eyes crinkled. 

“You remembered! He’s doing quite well, they took him off chemo last month and he’s making a speedy recovery. Eating us out of house and home, as it were.”

Draco grinned warmly. 

“I can imagine. But erm, yes, a cuppa sounds lovely. Jasmine?”

She nodded. 

“Jasmine. Scones?”

He turned to Harry, who had his nose pressed against the window. 

“Harry? Harry.”

“Mmm.” He grunted. 

The wizard sighed happily in a ‘what can you do? Love him to pieces, though’ sort of way and nodded.

“Blueberry and lemon, please.”

She did a little bob that might have been meant to resemble a curtsy or something, and disappeared behind the maple door. 

Draco sat down heavily in his chair and threw his legs over the armrest. 

“Y’know, you could’ve at least said hello.”

“‘ve never been...this high up before…” he murmured. 

“Yeah. We’re at about...twelve-and-a-half thousand metres.”

Harry gulped. 

“Really not helping.”

“Sorry.”

They sat in silence until Chelsea came back with an agate tray laden with scones and tea. 

“Thank you, Chelse.”

“Of course, sir.”

He bats a hand at her. 

“My parents aren’t here, Draco’s fine.”

She cocks her head. 

“In that case, Mrs. Haversham is just as well.”

Her hands shook with the slightest trepidation, as if she was unsure of her position. Had she crossed a line?

Draco just smiled warmly. 

“As you wish, Mrs. Haversham.”

She beamed gratefully and finished pouring Harry’s tea, then tottered down the aisle. 

When Harry finally removed his face from the window, Draco was reclined in his seat, rigid posture gone and melted into the leather, sipping a second cup of tea. He was completely relaxed. Vulnerable. Harry vowed he would never take advantage of that. 

“You alright?” A faint smirk was evident across his lips. 

Harry rubbed his eyes. 

“Fine.”

“Still nervous?”

He shoved half a scone in his mouth and shook his head. 

“Nn-nn.”

Draco chuckled. 

“What?” Harry grumbled. 

“Nothing.”

He rolled his eyes. 

“Draco, what is it?”

The blonde leaned forward and put his tea down on the table. 

“You are severely lacking in social training and entirely heedless of the acceptability of your actions. And I find it extremely endearing.”

Harry took a sip of cold tea and put it back down. 

“Err...thanks?”

The smirk was fully grown now, and it changed the way he spoke.

“You’re quite welcome.”

Harry fell quiet again, watching the clouds beneath them. Draco ran a finger over his upper lip as if he were considering something. 

“Harry?”

His eyes lingered on the view below before snapping to Draco’s like magnets. 

“Yeah?”

“What did-what did Vernon mean?”

Harry just frowned. 

“I mean, when he threatened to show me...photographs? What was that all about?”

There was something dangerous in the way Harry’s breath grew shaky, but his grip on the fragile cup between his thumb and forefinger broke it. 

“Shit…” he swore, putting the broken cup and saucer on the tray. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry Draco, that was probably-“

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll get another one, it’s fine.”

Harry looked at the ground, clenching his fist and shuddering, like he was panicking and hiding it badly. 

“What were the photographs of, Harry?”

“I don’t think I can-oh god…”

His hands were in his hair and he drew his legs to his chest.

“I can’t-I can’t-god, can’t we open a window or something?”

“Not if you want to breathe.”

Draco unfolded his legs and kneeled in front of Harry’s chair, palms on his knees. 

“Harry-“

“I god, no, no I can’t do this again, I can’t please don’t do this I can’t...please sir…” he sobbed and Draco felt the odd urge to incinerate everything he could see. 

“Harry, look at me. Breathe.”

“I can’t b-bre-th-the, I c-can’t-“ he gasped. 

“You’re hyperventilating. I know it’s hard but I need you to breathe with me. In, and out. In, and out.”

He shuddered with each breath and it seemed to be working, until he gave out again and the short, desperate breaths returned. Draco continued with patience he didn’t know he had, patience he knew he couldn’t muster for anyone else. Seven minutes of synchronised breathing and ‘ _you’re here, you’re on my plane, you’re safe. He’s not anywhere near us. He can’t hurt you’_ for Harry to calm down, to breathe. 

“You alright?”

He nodded and wiped the tears that had gathered in his eyes. 

“Yeah, I think I’m okay. Thanks. Sorry, I didn’t...that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Draco smiled and returned to his seat.

“Nobody plans panic attacks, Harry.”

He poured more tea into his own cup and replaced it with Harry’s broken one. 

“You don’t have to tell me, if you can’t.”

Harry nodded. 

“But whenever you can, I’m here.”

He considered this, then sipped the brew placidly. 

“I can-I think I can.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But um...you know what he did to me, yeah?”

Harry worried his lip. 

“Well, he would-he would put me in these situations, force me to smile and then he’d take pictures.”

Draco felt something cold and heavy in his chest, as if he’d swallowed a rock. 

“What.” He said, coolly and evenly. 

“Yeah. Sometimes he’d take candids. Tried to capture the moment. Aunt Petunia and Dudley go to the grocery store on Saturday mornings, then the chemist for Vernon’s blood pressure medication and her diet pills. They didn’t usually come back until the afternoon.”

He inhaled, held it for a few seconds and breathed out.

“You don’t have to-“

“No, I want to get it out now. Best deal with it whilst I’m already a mess.”

He laughed humorlessly, and Draco’s forehead creased without his permission at his red-rimmed eyes and wet nose, the pain that seemed to build up behind his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not-I’m sorry. Continue.”

Harry nodded.

“Right. Well, they’d come home around noon. I’d clean myself up. Be downstairs to put away the food and make lunch. Bruises take about a day to turn purple, so I’d use the green colour correcting makeup I’d nicked from the drugstore. Used concealer and heavy foundation until it healed. It was even written in his schedule. If I was lucky, as he put it, he’d print out copies of the photos for me and leave them on my pillow while I was sleeping so it was the first thing I saw when I woke up. I think I’ve puked in the toilet upstairs more times than I’ve pissed in it. That was our Sunday morning routine. We had a system.”

Harry gulped, and he found his mouth was dry. 

“I don’t-I don’t know what to... _shit, Harry…”_

Draco rested his forehead in his hand. 

“Where are they? The photographs?”

“At the house.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

Draco shook his head. 

“What if the wrong people got their hands on those?”

Harry glared at him. 

“I was raped on a weekly basis and you’re worried about what other people might think?”

“God-no, I just don’t want you at your worst, plastered on papers across Europe and _victimised_ as some cruel joke because the ministry’s mad you turned down their job offer.”

Harry considered this. 

“Or is that not something we should be worried about? You tell me.”

He sighed and put the tea down. 

“No, you’re right. I should’ve destroyed them when we were there.”

“I could summon them.”

Harry nodded. 

“Yeah.”

He cocked his head. 

“Or...you could summon them. And destroy them. And I wouldn’t need to see them at all. If you want.”

He shook his head. 

“No, it’s fine. I’m a mess right now, my magic won’t be very accurate. And we really don’t need to accidentally summon _him._ ”

Draco nodded. 

“As long as you trust me.”

“Always.”

He got up and pulled his wand from his coat pocket, where it was thrown over a chair. 

“Accio, Vernon’s photos of Harry.”

Glossy photographs materialised in the air between them and spiraled onto the carpeted floor. Draco felt sick. 

_Harry naked, tied up and bleeding from...everywhere. Harry in only a shirt, lying on the ground with his mouth dripping blood and something...white. A blurry photo of Harry from the b-_

Draco retched and held a hand over his mouth. 

“I can’t-“ he managed to get out before running to the toilet and heaving up bile, tea, and half of a scone. He emerged looking like shit, smelling like mouthwash. Harry had his shoes off and his legs folded under him. 

“Told you. Puking.”

Draco nodded and rubbed at his eyes, then burned them without looking in midair with a smokeless fire, collected the ashes in a Ziploc bag he’d found in the kitchenette. He sat down heavily.

“Anything else?” He asked. 

“You got a couch on this thing?”

Draco grinned. 

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

It turned out, the lounge was not the only room onboard. There was a space in the back with a daybed of sorts. Draco found pillows and blankets in a closet; neither of them had slept well the night before. They cuddled up and closed the shutters on the little round windows, windows that Harry absolutely loved. He’d said that if they ever did get a place together, he wanted circular windows in the bedroom, an idea to which Draco wholeheartedly agreed. He was briefly admonished for being so bony and uncomfortable to snuggle with, Harry’s concern _very_ thinly veiled. 

“Y’know, I’ve heard great things about New York cuisine.”

Draco rolled his eyes and planted a kiss on his head beneath his chin. 

“Shh. Go to sleep. We’re landing in a few hours.”

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was fast asleep and Draco was watching the screen saver on the TV. Generic drone shots of the desert, of a forest, of Dubai... _I wonder if he’d like Dubai?_

There was a knock at the door. 

“Come in!” He whisper-shouted. 

Mrs. Haversham peeked her head in the door. 

“Can I get you anything?”

Her gaze trailed down to where Harry lay, safely in his arms. She smiled. 

“Erm...no, I’m alright. Make yourself some tea, or something.”

“Very well, sir.”

She winked at him and shut the door softly. 

Draco smiled, and let his head grow heavy. 

* * *

It was dusk when their wheels hit the ground, and Harry was practically itching to leave. 

“Y’know, you’re like, the only person ever to hate riding in someone’s private jet.”

Harry wagged his tongue at him and Mrs. Haversham was opening the door. 

“What about our luggage?”

He batted a hand. 

“It’ll be brought to the hotel.”

Harry nodded. This was all very new to him. 

Draco slid a pair of tinted sunglasses on and headed down the stairs, briefcase in hand. They walked out where two cars were waiting for them in front of the hangar. 

One was a Bentley-the same model as the one Finchley had driven in London, a few years old. Behind it was an Audi, and a man who looked like Dwayne Johnson if he weren’t The Rock was climbing out, the engine having roared to life. He smiled and walked out to meet them. 

“Good evening, Mister Malfoy. How will you be driving back?”

“Evening, Jameson. Er…” he looked over to the R8 and smiled. 

“I think I’ll drive back. Oh, by the way, Jameson, this is Harry. Harry, Jameson.”

The man extended a hand and Harry took it. 

“Nice to meet you.”

“You as well.”

He turned back to Draco. 

“Would you like me to take the luggage?”

“Yes, would you? There’s not much space, I’m afraid.”

Jameson nodded, and Harry imagined he was thinking something along the lines of _fucking rich people and their fucking cars,_ but he just smiled and headed off to the plane to collect their things. 

“Um-Dray, shouldn’t we help him? I feel bad.”

The Slytherin frowned. 

“He’s paid more than McGonagall and we bought a condo for his family. It’s his job.”

“If you say so…”

Draco held the passenger door for him and shut it a little too eagerly, crossing around the front to his side and pressing the button to lower the roof. 

“What’s happening?” 

He grinned. 

“Just putting the top down. Unless you don’t want to…”

“No, no it’s fine.”

He twisted around and watched the rest of the roof slide into the back, a panel covering it seamlessly. 

“That’s really cool,” he remarked. 

Draco just grinned and pulled away. 

They drove down to the city, away from the vast asphalt strips of La Guardia and into a forest of skyscrapers until they reached a large hotel where men in uniforms with fans embroidered on them whisked the Audi off to the parking garage. 

Draco took his hand and lead him inside to the concierge desk, Harry gawking at the well-lit rotunda in the middle of the ceiling. He was led into a very shiny elevator and deposited in a vast hallway with doors that all looked the same, little tables with orchids and a mirror here and there. Draco scanned the numbers that dotted the walls until he found their suite, and swiped the card in front of the scanner. The door unlocked audibly and he sauntered inside. It was a rather spacious arrangement with a bedroom, lounge and a mini bar with a coffee maker, snacks and alcohol. 

“I figured we didn’t need too much space, so…” Draco muttered, tossing his jacket haphazardly over the back of the desk chair. Harry peeked his head inside the bathroom. 

“Holy shit,” he murmured. The slytherin couldn’t help but smile in an _oh, how quaint_ sort of way. 

“Yeah, it’s comfy. Not the nicest hotel in the city, mind you, but I’m trying to set a good example for Saddler. He’s the man who’s going to help me manage everything my parents left behind. ‘Thinks I’m too young and reckless to be trusted, so I’m trying not to splurge.”

Harry gawked, but closed his mouth and nodded. 

“Well, all right then.”

Draco smirked and checked his watch. 

“Ah, right. Date lines-your mobile, does it know what time it is here?”

“We really need to get you your own.”

“Yeah, I’ll pick one up later. Time?”

“One twenty-four.”

“Right…”

He fiddled with the crown of his watch and waited. 

“Aaand twenty-five.”

Draco pushed the button down and turned toward him. 

“Thanks.”

“Yeah. So erm...what are we going to do, exactly?”

He grinned. 

“Well, we’re going to have lunch. But first I’m just waiting on the bellman to bring our luggage.”

“Ah.”

The gryffindor walked around the suite, disappeared into the bedroom while Draco picked up the telephone on the desk. 

“Yes hello, I’d like to make a reservation for lunch downstairs? For two, please.”

_“Two? All right, what time?”_

“Draco, they left us chocolates!” Harry cried. Draco put the receiver to his shoulder. 

“Yes dear, they do that.”

He held the phone back up. 

“Sorry madame, could you repeat that?”

The bellman arrived with their luggage only two minutes later, apologising for the wait. Apparently there was some sort of a mix-up...it wasn’t important. He helped them remove their things from the cart and went on his way, and Draco put their cases in the closet. He’d unpack them later. 

“Harry!” He called. No reply. 

“Harry?”

There was a muffled noise and for a moment he panicked just a bit, but he found Harry sprawled on the bed on his stomach. 

“What on earth are you doing?”

He grinned and turned over onto his back. 

“It’s so soft…”

Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, quite right. They were fully booked for lunch-unless you actually wanted to eat at three-o’clock.”

“I’d eat anytime.” 

“Yeah, well, your boyfriend’s picky. So I got us in for dinner, but we can go somewhere else for lunch. Unless you don’t want to go outside. I don’t want to go outside, to be frank, but-“

“Are you kidding me? I never want to leave this place!” Harry said, still on the bedspread. 

Draco smiled fondly. 

“You’ve never seen New York, though.”

“We’ve got plenty of time to see the city. Right now, I just want to see you.”

“Well there’s plenty of time to see me as well,” he countered. 

“Not nearly enough.”

Harry caught him by the sleeve and dragged him onto the bed, and they had a quick romp in the sheets before Draco’s OCD got the better of him. 

“I can’t-I’ve got to unpack the luggage.”

“Just stay here,” Harry groaned. 

“Seriously, it’s just... _sitting there,_ all packed up and we’re here now, and-“

He made a noise in the back of his throat. 

“Just go, if you’re gonna complain about it all day…”

Draco frowned, but Harry pecked him on the lips. 

“I’m going to have a rinse.”

“Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 
> 
> Never written HP fanfiction before, so...whaddya think?


End file.
